


I want to hold you in my arms and burn

by InudaTheFox



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2b2t, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anarchist TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), And by yall i mean smp and by smp i mean Dream and Tubbo, And he aint parting with it so fuck you, Angry TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anyway Tommy is a badass and honest?, At least for a kid, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Violence, Business Bay (SMPEarth), Character Death, Child Neglect, Dream is a Bad Brother, Drista deserves better and she gets better, Emotional Manipulation, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fight Club References, Fuck Dream All My Homies Hate Dream, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, He aint taking none of yalls shit, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), I'm Bad At Tagging, Insane Wilbur Soot, Minecraft, Pam's Harvestcraft, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Runaway TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Shame, So essentially tommy has godtier stuff from the various battles, These are the character's the DSMP PORTRAYS, They'll get better Tommy just gotta fuck em up first, Tommy and Drista are friends and they deserve SOLIDTARY, Tommy deserves better, Tommy has OP gear he just kinda forgot he has it and just never saw a use for it, Tommy runs awya bc fuck the smp he deserves better, Tommy was raised in 2b2t for like... 7 or 8 years, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT ISNT A TAG, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, aka Business Bay adopts her and now she has 4 overprotective older brothers, anarchy servers, bamf tommy, bc... well he wasn't really taking anyone seriously in the SMP, biomes o'plenty, but like thats totally valid bc the dream smp kinda fucking sucks tbh, but now he does and now they're fucked, c!dream sucks, did i really add business bay? yes i did, do i care? no, dont attack the actual creators, elytras are wings but you can customize them, especially Tommy whose been exiled and on that note what the F U C K Dream, good for him, gotta give Tommy his own kingdom my dudes, hence why Tommy is a phoenix, im sorry phil I love you but god do you suck at raising children in canon, it should be, mods have been added bc im dumb af and want more power, no beta we die like wilbur soot, phoenix!Tommy, tommy in it all now boys, traumatized tommyinnit, you cowards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InudaTheFox/pseuds/InudaTheFox
Summary: Tommy Craft, youngest child to the famed Philza Minecraft, was raised within war. Raised to fight, raised to kill, raised to revolt. As such, “childish antics” were war crimes that pushed boundaries between friends and enemies.To be young, to not realize what was happening right before his very eyes- broken bonds and shattered memories of days long since past- how he wished he could be young inside and out, and not feel a decade older than he was; to not feel the pressing weight of abandonment on his shoulders day in and day out. Disappointed gazes- Techno, Phil, Tubbo, Wilbur- pressing into his back every. Single. D a y.Exile, he figured, wouldn’t have been too bad had Dream not shown up to belittle him everyday, forcing him to burn his valuables, lest he get a sword punctured through his chest. However, two months in, he’s had enough.No more shall he lay, wasting away, as Dream hounds him day after day with insults and demeaning remarks. No longer shall he stir in his anger when he can actually do something.It’s time that “Tommyinnit” is laid to rest amongst the carcass of fire and ash, and a new form take his place.It’s time to be reborn.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream's Sister Drista & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 366
Kudos: 2028





	1. Fallen Ash

\---

L’Manburg was- _is-_ _gone._

It was gone- blown to _fucking smithereens_ by _Wilbur motherfucking Soot-_ and all that was left were it’s people who could only pick up the pieces and try to start anew.

_“Start anew”_ being key, because Tommy wasn’t there with them.

No, they didn’t _need_ Tommy.

Perhaps they _had_ begun the nation with him as one of the most important members, but he’s just a bad reminder now- the war, the presidency, the death, exile, Schlatt, _Wilbur._ He’s redundant, a figure of chaos and death, of the worst times this country has ever faced, and they want him _gone._

_And a part of himself can’t blame them- he’d want him gone too…_

So maybe that’s why Tubbo ( _Tubbo. Sweet, kind, innocent little_ **_Tubbo._ ** _He still can’t believe it,_ **_his_ ** _Tubbo… hornsareshowingsclattisbeingremadewhydon’tthey_ **_seeit?!_ ** ) banished him without a thought, without even _trying_ to figure out more on the burning and looting of George’s cottage.

_“We don’t need a loose cannon, Tommy”_ echoes in his ears like a mantra being called by thousands, second after second, day after day.

The next morning, a small white, walk-in tent is pitched in the middle of the plains beside a wide ocean, and is re-named “Logstedshire” by none other than Ghostbur- his _**dead** _fucking brother.

_God that thought hurts._

Tommy thought being in exile was hard before, but at least in the end, he had Wilbur as company. Crazy, insane, maniacal company, but company. And even _then,_ He got to see Technoblade, his _other_ older brother, and even Tubbo (not Phil, _never_ Phil) from time to time when he wasn’t working on the festival. There was _companionship_ in exile, even when there wasn’t supposed to be.

But now? He has _nothing._

No best friend, no brother (if you count a war criminal as a brother), and _certainly_ no _father._

(Internally, the teen is aptly reminded of _who_ exactly was the favored child, on _who_ Phil spent all his time with, on _who_ was the _prodigy._ And in every answer, it was _never_ him. Not Tommy, _never Tommy._ )

All that was left was Dream- Dream and his stupid fucking mask that just stared _mockingly_ at the boy before he even opened his inadequate fucking mouth to garner an insult. Dream who is the reason he’s out here _in the first place._ Dream who has _power_ over him.

And Dream is all he has left, and Tommy _despises_ that.

What’s worse is that he knows he can’t leave the server, because once you're gone, all contact is cut.

In the Green Man’s words, “You don’t need friends from _outside”._

The fact that also applied to Tommy _burned_ at his chest like molten lava coursing through his veins, and it _sucked._

What sucked more is when Dream came over, only to blow up or burn his stuff. “To repent” or something- hell if he knows, the days just blur together at this point, and so do any words he hears.

And his clothing are all ripped and _disgusting_ at this point- tears to and from, stains of brown and dark red coating the material, and deep scars gorged on his skin in a gruesome, golden locks greasy and too long for him to handle (though, at least they hide some of the scars). He feels like a fucking _hobo-_ which, he… technically kinda is- and the fact that he left L’Manburg with Wilbur’s coat _probably_ doesn’t help his image much.

But… maybe it’s time to stop caring.

He didn’t care when he was stuck in 2b2t for god knows how long- he only knows that he got out mere weeks before his fourteenth birthday-, name forged in blood and glory, fighting in the ring and _killing_ all those that stood in his way, winning colored boxes as his prize for every fight.

He was something _different_ back then- something raw and _primal-_ when he fought, and he’s goddamned _softened_ since meeting the rest of the SBI.

_No._ No he won’t allow that.

This _server_ (he may have hated that damned anarchy server but at least it was a land where they don’t manipulate you. Either you’re given to it straight and live, or you die, simple as that)- _his mind hisses at the word-_ has done nothing but soften him and stab him in the back time and time again with various symbols of betrayal.

Be it family, friend or foe- they weren’t exactly being _subtle_ with what they were saying.

Or, rather, what they _weren’t._

Resentment swells in his chest as he’s reminded of _everyone_ he fought for, only to be swept away to the side like he’s nothing when, in the end, he’s the only one representing L’Manburg’s ideals.

It’s _true_ ideals- not the ones that Wilbur, Schlatt or _Tubbo_ twisted in their presidency.

The will to stand up and _fight_ for what’s right.

The ability to stand beside those they he loves and fight another day, just to protect him.

The ability to _survive_ against the crushing winds of the world, when it’s just pressing down on you, inching you closer and closer to the ground as blood swells in your head.

_That_ is what Tommyinnit- formerly Thomas Simons- represented.

_He_ is the ideals of L’Manburg that were _supposed to stay!_

But Ender knows that where Hell burns bright, evil burns brighter.

And he’s done with it.

Absolutely _done._

They want freedom? Well, they’ll just have to earn it without him. And if they ever need “Tommy-motherfucking-innit”, well that’s _too fucking bad now ain't it?_

Scowling, he swipes his legs off of his bed, his uneven flooring digging into his hole ridden socks, and stands to his full height, swinging himself down the ladder into the mines, and pressing a hidden switch when he got halfway down. The wall to his left creaks open, and he slides his body through just in time for it to snap shut with a click.

Tommy admires the room- the vault. _His_ vault- and locks onto the ender chest in the corner.

A very _specific_ ender chest- one dirtied and bloody, thick gorges into it’s pretty casing, flickers of magic twisting around the ender eye clasp.

This box was his from the very beginning- a prize from the ringmaster of the pit after his first successful win in the ring, and an item he has almost never used save for the most dire of times- but this box, this _chest,_ was _different._

Where most were hidden, this chest was always on his person, pressing against him in a sort of invisible, comfortable weight, even in the heat of battle.

_Especially_ in the heat of battle.

It was his go to, his most treasured item for _what_ it carried in its midst.

No one but _him_ could access this chest- though, his lineage will one day be able too- and it’s _freeing_ because _Dream doesn’t know it_ **_exists._ **

And the contents, as far as Tommy’s concerned, will fucking _stay_ that way.

Though it almost didn’t, not with-

_No._

No, he is _not_ fucking remembering that shit. Not right now.

_Not here._

Chest heaving, tight and head swimming in memories forged in blood and sweat, Tommy breathes, mind whirling, and cracks open the chest.

A single, regular ‘ol shulker box sits innocently inside it, alongside a heavily, glowing diamond axe, elytra, a stack of fireworks, and shield- the enchantments on them wide and unbreakable, glowing brightly in the dark crevices of the chest.

The elytra, still in good condition despite the various battles he’s used it in over the years, glowed with power, the bristled feathers clamped down without a user.

Just staring at the sacred item brings back so many memories, and his back _aches._

Daft, skeletal fingers reach out and grasp the set of wings, magic swirling on the item and his heart _thumps_ in joy at feeling the cold embrace of magic squish against his own, fiery core.

The wings, once dull, spark at the intent of magic of it’s master (and that’s what he is- it’s _master_ , the leader to these old feathers. No one, and Tommy does mean _no one,_ will _ever_ be able to wear these wings with them being so interconnected to him. To his _core)_ , and _flourish_ into color, grey fading and vengeful crimson taking its place, bleeding into liquid gold and white.

Without nary a thought, the armor is equipped, and something burns _oh so wonderfully,_ and just… _snaps_ into place.

Wings spread the entire length of the room, and Tommy _breathes._

Breathes, the taste of fire and ash sitting on his tongue, and crumbles, resolve lost yet determination holding strong.

_‘Oh, these beautiful old wings…’_ wary, storm blue orbs glance at the overbearingly bright clash of colors, soft feathers dancing across his pale, frail skin and wrecking a _wail_ of relief from his chest, complete and _free_ for the first time in what felt like _centuries._ _‘Why did I_ ** _ever_** _give them up again?’_

Oh yeah.

Because of Phil.

And the pit.

_Right._

Wings spreading the expanse of the room, colors bright against the dreary stone, and Tommy is struck by how _familiar_ it all feels.

How it feels like everything has changed, but at the same time, it _hasn’t._

He’s Tommy, the loudmouth exiled combatant of L’Manburg, youngest son to Philza Minecraft, and brother of King Technoblade, ruler of the Antarctic Empire, Wilbur Soot, charmed songwriter turned military leader and terrorist, and Tubbo- _Toby-_ , innocent, bee-loving president of L’manburg.

But he’s also Thomas Craft, most powerful teen to step in and out of 2b2t, the _phoenix_ of the Pit, a symbol of lawful neutrality in a world of anarchy and death, where rules are shattered and dreams will _break you._ A sign that people can be _better,_ can be _more_ with the right set of morals, and a drive to survive the harsh, biting lands.

Tommyinnit is all of this and _more._

And he’ll be _damned_ if he doesn’t rise from the ashes and _burn_ those that wronged him.

A phoenix is the epitome of purity in most’s eyes. It is beauty when the world falls, burning in the night like a beacon of hope. But that fire soon runs out to smoldering embers, and what is left but ash and ruined dreams.

But, no matter what, the phoenix symbolizes birth, death, and rebirth- strength and renewal for eternity. It is a rite of passage, a challenge and transformation through survival and adversity.

And where a phoenix lays to rest, a new being will rise from the ashes and it

Will

**_B u r n._ **

\---

  
  



	2. Blow and Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bird is free, and the snake has lost it's future meal.

\---

Wings stretch in the fading sunlight, and Tommy heaves in relief when Dream didn’t show as he usually did.  _ ‘He probably will tomorrow though, and early too,’ _ he muses, eyes narrow in consideration over the masked man.

Thoughts pause when licks of fire slide off the thick, bright plumage, and Tommy quickly darts to the ground and flaps his wings, gusts of humid air travelling through the breeze. Two small licks of embers touch the leaves of the trees and set the entire thing on fire, leaves crumbling like paper and turning a rough clash of brown and black, tree bark peeling and flaking in thick, hunks of charred bark.

Nose wrinkling, Tommy sneers at the forest, but he can’t help but admire the roaring inferno blazing through the frottage-

And an idea strikes from the ashes.

“If I burn down the forest and campsite,” he muses, narrowing his eyes, “then they won’t have any of my plans…  _ none _ of them.”

That includes the ones for Business Bay- and yes, he  _ does _ still control the Bay even after this past year, though Deo now acts as the figurehead of the operation while Tommy sends the various plans to him- and the SMP itself, the ones he took from Wilbur.

Funny how despite being a veteran of L’Manburg, no one believed him when he said Wilbur would blow the entire fucking thing to smithereens.

And now half of those people are on their second or last life- shame.

_ He would have much preferred them  _ **_dead_ ** _. _

Tommy quickly shakes his head, internally scolding himself because he wasn’t that type of person anymore!

He  _ couldn’t _ be that type of person.

**_‘Oh, but you are,’_ ** a dark, saturated part of him purrs, shifting in the darkness, swaddled up by dark thoughts and putrid feelings,  **_‘and you damn well_ ** **_know it._ ** **_’_ **

“Nope,” he shakes his head again, resolute, “nope,  _ fuck you, _ I am  _ not _ dealing with the voices again.  _ Absolutely  _ **_fucking not._ ** ”

He is  _ not _ touching that can of worms.

Tommy maybe two-faced, but he isn’t fucking  _ crazy! _

That’s Wilbur and Techno, and look how  _ they _ turned out!

Head swimming, the teen folds his large, 7-foot wings behind his back shifts back to the hidden room, and pops open the ender chest once more. Pulling out the shulker box- his communicator shows  **_[Pit Winnings]_ ** in bold blue-, he opens it- revealing 15 separate shulker boxes, all of various colors.

Now, Tommy had fought a  _ lot _ of battles in the pit, before the SMP, before even Business Bay! But, he’d earned the name “Raccoon” there for a reason- and not because of his feral nature or penchment for using his (then) long, sharp nails to gorge someone’s eye out and slit their throat.

No, if he lost a battle, be would either steal their winnings, or his enderman buddy hack into their ender chest and get the winnings  _ for _ him.

Meaning he had enough shit to pretty much man an army- much like Techno did for the revolution.

Nowadays, he didn’t know what most of them hid- maybe it’s all the trauma? Repressed memories? Who the fuck knows at this point- but he  _ vividly _ remembers the black shulker boxes being the most stacked, so with that, he pulls out the black shulker box, opens  _ that _ to reveal another… what, fifteen? Twenty? Yeah, about twenty, give or take, black shulker boxes.

He pulls out the first one, and peeks inside, and  _ grins _ when his communicator beeps, displaying what’s inside.

Two sets of enchanted diamond armor, all of which with Protection IV, Mending, Respiration III, Fire Protection III and Thorns III, two stacks of enchanted golden apples, five and a half stacks of cooked steak, an enchanted trident with the Channeling, Loyalty III, Riptide II and Mending enchantments, two diamond swords enchanted enough that it makes him  _ wince _ in sympathy for whoever get’s struck by these things, an enchanted crossbow, a stack of harming arrows, and finally three stacks of regular arrows.

In other words-  _ high class fucking shit. _

And if he remembers, all of the other boxes are pretty much the same- though amounts vary-, so he has plenty of stuff to bring back.

Bring back to where?

Business Bay, because it’s about _damn fucking_ _time_ for him to take his spot as ruler back, and at least now with so few leaders around, especially since most of them left.

And since Techno and Phil  _ both _ left the Antarctic Empire  _ willingly, _ they can no longer come back to claim it. And Wilbur’s fucking  _ dead, _ Tubbo is already president  _ and _ had left SMP Earth, so that left Tommy as the sole heir of the Empire.

Eh, jokes on those idiots, he’s already used to running stuff, even if he isn’t there.

And with pit winnings this rare and overpowered? Tommy just needs netherite and he can supply an army, or at least all his commanders, with high class gear!

That should earn him some brownie point’s with his citizens- he was doing the job of grabbing high classed gear for his soldiers, like any good ruler would!

Sure, it’s a fucking  _ lie, _ but only  _ Deo _ knows that, and like hell the guy is gonna call him out on it.

He’s too loyal for that (and Tommy thanks  _ Clara _ for  _ finally _ having a reliable friend and confident beside Ranboo).

Reaching a thin hand- that reminds him, he has  _ got _ to put on some weight before he gets to the bay, at least look  _ normal. _ Maybe he can live in the wild, away form civilization of any kind, for a month or two until he regains his energy and strength?- inside the dark, scarred box, the blonde pulls out the diamond boots and pants, slipping them on, as well as setting one of the swords on his left hip, right across the right sitting his shiny, enchanted diamond axe. Slipping on the enchanted shield, as well as putting on a quiver and loading it with arrows, and clicking the crossbow to his back, he was ready.

Closing the shulker, he chucks in within the other black one, which is then thrown into the normal, unsuspecting shulker, and then his chest, which he picks up and slips into his inventory. Stepping out of the room, the door shuts behind it, to forever be untouched.

He steps out of the mine and into his tent, only to walk out a second later, three important items sitting in his hotbar, ready to be used.

First, he places a good ten TNT down, scattered all across his camp, as well as two more inside his tent. Then, wings spread and flaring, Tommy shoots into the night sky, molten feathers obscenely bright against the black, twinkling sky, and pulls out the second- and probably most important- item in his hotbar.

An end crystal.

These things are fucking  _ legendary _ in literally  _ any _ place except 2b2t, where they’re used and given out like fucking  _ candy. _

Candy that explodes and kills large sums of people, but his point still stands.

He glances at the beautiful little contraption, taking in the sacred language hidden on it’s core, always twisting and turning, and decides  _ yes, _ despite its deadly poweress, it is a beautiful artifact, one relatively untouched by others.

Like a nightshade.

_ How fitting. _

Unclipping is crossbow, Tommy loads in a single arrow, and  _ throws _ the crystal towards his camp, polished dark oak neat and smooth against his fingers as he points the arrowhead at the falling, twinkling crystal.

His mind flashes back to  _ another _ time he had a bow in his hands, and his hands tighten.

The crystal falls quicker.

Eyes narrow, arrow pointed at the object.

His wings beat against the air, wind rustling his hair in it’s cold embrace, and he lets the arrow fly.

And this time, unlike his match with Dream-

_ It. _

_ Doesn’t. _

**_Miss._ **

The end crystal tinks against one of the lone TNT just as the arrow pierces it’s core, massive amounts of magic slipping out. A fire starts from the lone sparks, and from there, Tommy’s world lights in a flash of white and purple.

He smiles, and glides off over the ocean up by the clouds.

Not even a minute later, the scrambled, heaving form of Dream steps out of the swirling purple vortex, breath tumbling out of his lungs at the destroyed field, the campsite completely  _ obliterated. _

But he doesn’t care about the camp-  _ oh no. _

_ What he  _ **_cares_ ** _ about is the vanished form of  _ **_Tommyinnit._ **

Mask slipping off his face, revealing emerald orbs and freckled cheeks, Dream seethes gripping his netherite sword in hand, body shaking.

His piercing scream- full of so much  _ bubbling hatred- _ could be heard for miles on end.

Halfway across the body of water, Tommy  _ just barely _ hears the telltale end of the shriek and  **_grins._ **

_ The snake lost it’s meal, a de-taloned chick, that night. _

**_Too bad it doesn’t realize that it was never de-taloned in the first place._ **

\---


	3. Feather Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy thinks, gets some rest, and gets to the Bay

  


  


\---

  


The overbearing smell of salt water splashes against his face as Tommy zips across the ocean, summer heat beating down on his exposed skin, droplets of sweat swinging off his form.

  


His communicator shell beams “12:41” in bold blue, and Tommy knows he has to land, eat and sleep soon. He can feel his body shutter and twitch, back aching in a away that only extended flight trips could do, and magic bubbling in his chest, thick fumes of rich crimson and molten gold swiping off his wings.

  


_ ‘Yes,’ _ Tommy thinks, eyeing the approaching landmass,  _ ‘it’s time for a break’. _

  


And honestly, he could stay in the same spot and it would be  _ days _ before anyone would even get  _ halfway. _

  


And that’s the thing about elytras- you can go as fast as you want,  _ however _ you want.

  


Tommy just decided to be a fucking rocket for his little getaway from the SMP.

  


Probably for the best, considering how  _ determined _ Dream and his goons could be if they really put their mind to it.

  


“But, then again,” he swipes some sweat off his brow, approaching the small mass of land, “they don’t have elytras to quicken the travel.”

  


And thank  _ Ender _ for that.

  


Because  _ if they did, _ his job would have been a hundred times harder- after all, elytras are easy to track when you  _ know _ how the fuck to actually  _ use them. _

  


Tommy does.

  


Dream  _ doesn’t. _

  


_ ‘Probably helps that I went over the ocean and not land,’ _ a part of him grumbles, just as he curves his wings and  _ dives. _

  


Wind crushing and biting against his face, he spreads open his elytras  _ just in time _ not to take any fall damage, loose feathers falling off the large, towering wings. If one were to see him now, they’d say he’d look like a wandering angel from the depths of hell.

  


Holy, but  _ dangerous. _

  


**_‘Just as a phoenix should be,’_ ** the voice purrs again, pride dripping off of it,  **_‘just as YOU should be!’_ **

  


_ Man, he is  _ **_really_ ** _ starting to hate this fucking voice. _

  


Bare feet, heavily scarred, touch the soft, untouched grass of the plains biome, and smiles appreciatively at the sight, wings curling and folding to rest comfortable on his back- a comforting, warm weight to take away the muddle memories and thoughts, much like that of a weighted blanket.

  


A single chicken, once pecking at the ground, clicks sassily at him, as to tell him to go away, only to be pierced by a glimmering, beaming blue blade.

  


The chicken vanishes in a plume of white, and in it’s place sits a single, uncooked chicken and a thin, white feather. Thin fingers grab the uncooked food, and feather, and Tommy can just  _ feel _ his mouth begin to water at the prospect of a good, full meal.

  


_ Ender, _ how long has it  _ been _ since he’s last ate?

  


It’s  _ got _ to be at least a good week- only thing he remembers eating is a single apple, and that was  _ four days ago. _

  


Fuck, no wonder he’s so weak- he’s pretty much skin and bones!

  


The inhabitants of the ring would be  _ sneering _ at him in disgust if they saw him now. Or maybe they’d make him fight one of the OG members and jeer at him while he stands in the ring with only a sword and his wit.

  


Yeah, that definitely sounds like them.

  


Huffing, Tommy swings his diamond sword at another chicken.

  


And another.

  


And another.

  


And  _ another. _

  


Over and over, chickens in the plains slain by his blade, their dropped items picked up for him to use for food.

  


_ A part of him  _ **_shudders_ ** _ excitedly at the spilt life liquid, or when his sword would rip the necks of his prey. _

  


**_He felt like a predator again._ **

  


An hour layer, Tommy’s hidden himself in a cave in a blocked off room, with only a furnace and a bed within the manmade hobbit hole. Burning embers flicker from the ongoing source of light, casting shadows and a orange glow around the room, as a dirtied cloth wipes down the gleaming, glowing blade.

  


Tommy munches on a piece of chicken idly, turning tired eyes to the book he’d started upon setting up his little “camp”.

  


Throwing the cloth away, and setting the sword back on his holster, he plucks the seemingly innocent book from the bad and cracks it open, pulling out a fresh quill from it’s cover.

  


**_To Do List:_ **

__

  * _ Technoblade and Philza left the Empire, gave up their rights as the kings. Pete stepped down 9 months ago, couldn’t handle the pressure, and neither can Wisp or Cal. Take the empire for our own, they likely won’t fight the Bay for it. _



  


__

  * _ Deo deserves a goddamn vacation, give him one. _



  


__

  * _ Kara gave up the Corvarian Empire after Fitba left. Grab the territory and expand. _



  


__

  * _ Same goes for Newfoundland. Grab Sophie while she’s still available, would make a great secretary if anything happens. _



  


__

  * _ Get an alliance with Log Lagoon. If they won’t accept, offer a shulker box. If they don’t accept then, kill them. _



  


__

  * _ Fruitberries disbanded his nation, but is still available to grab. Do so and dangle Dream’s “dirty laundry”, might join just so he can defeat Dream.  **DON’T FUCK THIS UP!!! FRUIT IS TOO VALUABLE TO LOSE!** _



  


  * Arm the Bay with weapons and gear, and enchantments. Make sure it is powerful enough that fractions will be scrambling to join or make an alliance.



  


“Yep,” he pockets the quill and snaps the book shut, grinning devilishly. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be that hard to regal his tales of the Dream SMP and get people to join him- after all, Dream has pissed off a  _ lot _ of people over the years, most being extremely powerful in one way or another.

  


Be it through their own powers, or the armada they carry at their back and call.

  


And Tommy would  _ almost _ feel bad if the entire SMP Earth went to war with Dream’s own server, but thinking about it, he doesn’t really care.

  


Maybe he should, but Tommy finds that he just  _ can’t. _

  


_ Not anymore. _

  


Besides, who cares about  _ this place? _

  


He has  _ other _ friends, and their names are Deo, Luke and Bitz- his brothers in every way that matters except blood, and even  _ that _ might not be true.

  


These are the guys he’s  _ bled for _ in the raging wars of anarchy, back when he was just a  _ kid- Tommy resolutely ignores the voice whispering that he still  _ **_is_ ** _ a kid- _ trying to survive this cruel, harsh world looking to tear it’s claws in his throat and  _ maim. _

  


Deo, the man he’s known the longest, thought dead but alive by some miraculous means- probably a totem, if Tommy’s honest-, and still ready to follow Tommy’s command like he always did before.

  


Luke, a trusted enemy turned ally when the Pit, and the surrounding monuments, were bombed and trapped by griefers. A kinship, born out of danger and death, settled in their chests after that day, and where Tommy went, Luke was soon to follow.

  


Bitz, their group’s newest member by all means, but the one keeping them all together in the end. An analytical brain that has saved their hides  _ Ender _ knows how many times, and formed alliances with unlikely groups that left them flourishing and others wilting and decayed.

  


“A true business tycoon”, as Luke jokingly calls him.

  


And then there’s him,  _ Tommy. _ Formerly known as “Phoenix”, “Thomas” and “Risen” in 2b2t due to his elytra and inherited need for a constant rain of fire, as well as his ability to get up from almost any injury and keep fighting, Tommy grew up with teeth barred to the world, magic crushing in his chest and talons ripping out eyes and flesh in battle. However, his riddled mind of equations and important, subtle facts, and intense presence that  _ floundered _ around the room, pushing against other’s own, and he made the perfect boss.

  


The perfect  _ predator. _

  


A stone cold killer- both literal and metaphorical.

  


And together, they made up the council of Business Bay, a council that to this day reigns overhead with an monopoly on certain items and an iron grip on others.

  


They were a business.

  


They were a family.

  


They were  _ brothers, _ forged in blood, sweat and tears, kept together though the fires of adversity and the swelling of forgotten memories.

  


They were-  _ are- _ powerful, and Tommy is going to remind the world why you don’t  _ fuck _ with Business Bay.

  


\---

  


Hours later, Tommy woke up to the hisses of creepers and clatter of bones, light long since extinguished and food properly cooked in droves. He plucks the chicken (just a  _ tad bit _ burnt but, honestly? He’s had worse) from the cold furnace, grabs the stone block and his bed, shifts it all into his inventory and leaves the cave with his holster, quiver and crossbow.

  


Magic twists in his elytra, lighting up the area akin to that of a supercharged torch, and Tommy dances out of the way of an arrow, slicing at a lone skeleton the befalls to his blade, only a bone in it’s wake.

  


It’s always nice to have bones in case he wants a dog, so he picks up the white marrow and steps out of the cave, stars twinkling above him like diamonds in darkness.

  


Feathers brush against the wind, and off he goes, one more into the night sky, passing over the island. Within seconds, the male is gone, merely a spec in the sky growing smaller and smaller, and inhabitants none the wiser as to  _ who _ just graced the land mass with his presence.

  


Beneath a tree, an Enderman watches the teen fly bye, it’s skin scarred and eyes round in curiosity.

  


Leaves and gusts of wind rustle white locks, and the creature beams in interest, cooing gently.

  


The Ender Friend is back in business, it seems.

  


\---

  


Four days come and go like the wind, pure adrenaline and spite the only thing to fuel the teen in his quest to get home, to his brothers, to his  _ family. _

  


To the  _ Bay. _

  


But those four days are exactly what he needed, and he spots two tall, twindling cobblestone towers with blackstone, the city made up of wood and stone, and a large oak bay with plenty of multicolored stands and boats.

  


After days- literal  _ days- _ of flying, he was here.

  


Tommyinnit is  _ home. _

  


Elation swells in his chest at the mere  _ thought _ of his home- freedom love freedom strength love freedom  **_family-_ ** and his wings are closed before he even realizes it, diving towards the bay and  _ screaming _ at the rush flooding his veins, memories sparking and raising his heart to heights it hasn’t seen in _ years. _

  


Crashing into the bay, stumbling, a head of brown hair, tanned skin and covered eyes greets him.

  


The man grins, hands on his hips, business attire pressed and shockingly dirt free. “Hey Toms!”

  


Joy combusts within him, and for the first time in  _ years, _ Tommyinnit  _ sobs. _

  


**_“DEO!”_ **

  


\---

  



	4. Welcome to the Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHOSE FUCKING HERE Y'ALL!
> 
> I'LL GIVE YOU A HINT- HER BROTHER FUCKING S U C K S.

\---

Time Deo- commonly known as “Deo” to those in the server- had woken up hours earlier at four AM to handle the paperwork, knowing if he didn’t start early, then it would never get done (because Ender knows that Luke is  _ atrocious _ at paperwork, and Bitz would easily spend an hour on a single piece thinking the pro’s and con’s before even  _ considering _ to make a decision). However, despite the need to get to work, something  _ screamed _ at him in his mind- his  _ heart- _ to head to the Bay and  _ wait. _

If there was one thing that anarchy taught it’s inhabitants, it’s to follow your gut- your  _ instinct. _

And so, Deo did exactly that.

He went to the Bay’s harbor and  _ waited. _

An hour later, a body crashed into the ground, blond hair matted and somewhat dirty, pale skin scarred with heavy burns and sharp gorges, and stormy blue eyes dancing across the area, dazed but still  _ sharp. _

The wing’s on the male’s back was all Deo needed to know who stood in front of him.

Thomas- no,  _ Tommy. _

Tommy  _ motherfucking _ innit.

The head of Business Bay, forced to leave by the order of Philza and Wilbur due to the latter dragging him to another server, alongside Tubbo, one of Tommy’s “best friends” (Deo scoffed at the notion,  _ as if!) _ so that they could stay together. The big man, the fucking  _ boss, _ of Business Bay, someone who still sent letter after letter, plan after plan, to Deo, his second in command.

Then, the plans stopped.

Deo thought he forgot- that Philza managed to convince Tommy that the Bay and it’s inhabitants weren’t worth his time.

_ He should’ve know that wasn’t the case. _

So, instead of voicing his thoughts, he sets his hands on his hips and  _ grins, _ one full of teeth, “Hey Toms!”

Stormy eyes snap to him, and within seconds are overflowing with tears, the liquid spilling down his hallowed cheeks, screaming as he rockets across the harbour towards the older male  **_“DEO!”_ **

His thin ( _ Oh dear Ender, why is he so fucking  _ **_thin?_ ** _ ) _ , lanky body slams into the brunette’s own, arms moving to embrace him.

Deo cradles Tommy and coos, pressing him against his chest (he’s  _ vividly _ aware of the ribs pressing against him, hollowed and so prominent it makes him want to  _ kill- _ nay,  _ maim- _ the person who’s done this) as he walks.

Tommy hates being touched without his consent- it’s just something that’s always stayed, even during his time in the pit. But if he’s doing this-  _ sobbing _ in Deo’s fucking  _ arms- _ then something is wrong.

Horribly, horribly  _ wrong. _

He hates Philza and Techno (because this is, in one way or another, their faults. It’s  _ always _ their fucking faults, the bastards), simple as that. He doesn’t hate Tubbo, but doesn’t really like him either at the moment, and Wilbur is about on the same boat as Tubbo.

But  _ this? _

An innocent, traumatized teenager that’s been broken, remolded, broken again and then put into a puzzle with pieces missing, with  _ memories _ and  _ bonds _ missing?

Yeah, no.

They’ll be fighting an army for this- he fucking  _ swears _ on it.

Running a hand through the boy’s matted, dirty hair, Deo coos again, and promptly picks him up, swinging him into his arms to carry, and sets towards his house, grip tightening when Tommy shudders in his grasp, fingers clenching his suit, dirtied clothing pressed against clean, pressured cloth.

Had it been anyone else messing up his suit, Deo likely would have their fucking  _ head _ for their utter  _ insolence. _

But…

But this was- _is-_ **_Tommy._**

Tommy, the boy that stood up to griefers when he was a mere  _ child _ and got them to  _ back down. _

Tommy, the king of Fight Club, and prince of the lands of anarchy.

Tommy, the boss of Business Bay- the sole reason it’s as big and powerful as it is today.

This… this isn’t his Tommy. It’s an unfamiliar, yet  _ eerily _ similar version that’s the broken version of a young man that once was and Deo  _ hated- _ nay,  **_despised-_ ** that.

He’s going to fucking  _ destroy  _ whoever did this to his prince.

But first, he’s got a kid to take care of.

\---

Deo’s house, Tommy found, has long since been remodeled. Before, it was a simple shack, something that had barely any thought put into it, instead focusing on the rest of the land to get it up to snuff with places like, say, the Antarctic Empire. However, with no need to really fight against the empire, Deo could finally work on his house.

And  _ hot damn, _ did he fucking  _ work _ on it.

Made up of wood, you wouldn’t think of it too be too impressive, but surprise surprise- Deo somehow managed it. The staircase had four levels, with every level having a space with a little farm- except the fourth layer, which instead had two horse stables on each side. Beside farm sat a large chest each ( _ ‘Probably to keep inventory,’ _ he thinks), and on the fourth later had the actual  _ house. _

It wasn’t anything grand- just a two story house made up of mostly spruce logs, quartz, glass panes and bright, hanging metal lanterns, but it was so utterly  _ Deo _ that Tommy felt himself relax.

The 19-year old slips past the gate and heads up the birch stairway, popping open the oak door and shutting it behind him.

Footsteps echo in the house just as the tall brunette sets him down on the couch.

A female, dressed in bright yellow, checkered sweatshirt, blue jeans and a mask, enters the room, long dirty blonde hair tied up.

“Hey Deo, what’re you doing ba-  _ Tommy _ ? Is that  _ you?!” _

Staring blankly, his mind runs over the various people he knows and stops at one of the youngest.

And one of the most  _ dangerous. _

**_Drista._ **

He can’t help it, not with her wearing that  _ damned smiley mask. _

_ He screams. _

\---

“So he really did leave you out there?” The female wonders, sipping at her coffee, nursing one of the most  _ bullshit _ headaches  _ ever. _

Tommy, sitting across from her, nurses his own cup- instead filled with jasmine tea- and nods, lips pulled into a taut, thin line.

Drista leans back, mask beneath the table as to not give the older boy a panic attack, and shakes her head, rubbing her temples, “That’s so  _ fucked _ dude… like, I’m happy you’re out of there, but now it makes me wanna travel back and split D-  _ Clay’s _ head open!”

The teen doesn’t flinch, but  _ does _ wince.

She’ll take that as a win.

“And the fact that  _ no one _ tried to refute him sending some kid out in the  _ fucking woods _ , then manipulates them emotionally and mentally while traumatizing them-  _ you- _ further?!” She wants to slam her fist on the table.  _ Ender, _ does she want to slam, punch,  _ kill  _ **_something,_ ** but right now, Tommy’s health, both physical and mental, is more important, “No offense Toms, but I’m  _ happy _ you got the hell outta dodge!”

“I am too,” Deo hums, setting down two plates of fluffy, golden chocolate pancakes, “you said that… this ‘ _ masked fella’- _ ” and like fucking  _ hell _ he was going to say that bastard’s name, “-is the one that started this all in the first place?”

The blond licks his lips nervously, feathers puffing, “...Yes.”

“He’s fucked up Toms,” Drista stares at him, turquoise eyes caring but sharp, “Clay has  _ absolutely _ fucked up, and his powers as admin have gone to his head, on top of those disks you gave him! Believe me when I say cutting him out of your life is the best decision you can or could have made- even better that you fucking  _ left!” _

“Isn’t he your brother?” rubbing at his arm, Tommy flinches at her stare, “I-I mean, he’s all you have left, right?”

“...” Setting the cup down, Drista curls her hands, eyes growing glossy and full of so much conflicted emotion that it almost physically struck Tommy. “Toms…  _ Tommy. _ When your own  _ brother  _ tells you that you’re not important- that you’re not  _ worth it- _ you tend to lose your respect for them. That’s what I did, but it took time… to my knowledge, Clay  _ still _ hasn’t come looking for me and…” she turns away, chewing at her lip nervously, wringing her hands, “a-and it’s been  _ four months.” _

Four months.

_ Four fucking months. _

That’s so fucked up. That’s so  _ entirely _ fucked up, but…

_ Ender… _ that’s so utterly damn like Dream that it  _ hurts. _

And her situation is so akin- so  _ eerily similar _ \- to his that it gives Tommy whiplash. A neglectful, slightly abusive family, absent or dead parents, neglectful brothers-!

It’s all so fucked but so utterly  _ familiar. _

_ He  _ **_hates_ ** _ it. _

“Tommy…” Deo’s calm, even voice catches his attention, ripping his storm blue eyes off of Drista’s figure, “how long were you in exile?”

“...” He blinks at that, and narrows his eyes in consideration, “...T-Two months...I-I  _ think?” _ He says, tilting his head.

Drista and Deo share a look.

Sighing, Deo leans back in his chair, sipping at his mug, crimson eyes peering over the edge, “Tommy, just eat and regain your energy, okay? I’ll call Luke and Bitz, and we should be able to get you to full strength again within the next month.”

“...” he glances down at his pancakes, and feels his stomach  _ rumble _ with need, mind fuzzy yet  _ so utterly  _ **_clear._ **

Storm eyes meet crimson, something hardening in his gaze, as Tommy’s back straightens.

“ _ Okay.” _

The other two inhabitants grin.

\---


	5. Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peek into Tommy's legacy in 2b2t. And some Drista and Tommy fluff, because we need it honestly!

\---

Set into one of the two guest bedrooms to rest, doctors flood the doorway, checking him over and using various salves on his wounds, then stitching it up and reapplying the insanely cold cream.

“Takes out the infection in the wound” they said.

Sure, Tommy isn’t going to correct or fight them, sure, but he still doesn’t like this in the slightest.

He doesn’t like- no, he  _ despises _ staying in one spot for longer than a day or two, and the doctors say he has to stay in bed for a  _ week. _

(Deo laughed at him, while he was attended to the cooing, various doctors and nurses, the _bastard.)_

Thankfully, Drista stayed when the others left- Deo had been forced to, due to his time as the current leader of the Bay until Tommy’s back on his feet. Though, the teen made sure to hand over the list he made to his best friend, who checked it over and nodded in agreement-, dressed differently than she had been before.

Instead of the checkered sweatshirt and jeans, she now wore a pastel yellow sweater top, skirt overalls the same shade as chocolate, black tights, and yellow slip-ons. Her mask, now that Tommy got an actual look at it, is  _ radically _ different from Dream’s- Drista’s is pretty much just a white mask with white, porcelain horns, shut eyes with the mouth again to that of a cat, and bright yellow cheeks and eyebrows.

“Bitch,” he blinks at her, “what the  _ fuck _ are you wearing?”

“Needed something casual and different from my brother,” she’d sighed, flopping over the red chaise on the other side of the room, “ya know, to not cause a panic?”

He stares blankly at her, and her chest clenches when he seeming  _ genuinely surprised _ that she would do something like that to make sure he’s comfortable.

God she’s going to fucking  _ kill _ Clay if she ever sees him- and maybe Tubbo.

Or Phil.

Or Technoblade.

_ ‘How do adults manage to fuck kids up in the head  _ **_this badly?_ ** _ ’ _ She wonders silently, narrowing turquoise eyes beneath the porcelain mask,  _ ‘Actually, nevermind, they can’t even function properly, let alone care for a traumatized child.’ _

Heavens knows that she’s already a prime example.

“...Thank you,” he mumbles, swiping his hand through his hair, visibly wincing at the rancid feeling, “that means a lot Drista.  _ Thank you…”  _

“Not really something you should thank me for,” she responds, shrugging her shoulders, mind already dancing over the various instances of where Tommy had been…  _ Tommy. _

_ ‘This isn’t Tommy… this isn’t  _ **_my_ ** _ Tommy…’ _

And by  _ Ender _ does she hate that thought.

That truthful, pushing, fucking  _ thought. _

Shaking her head, she glances at him and shakily smiles, pointing, “Nice shirt! Looks good.”

The blonde deadpans at her, crossing his arms, overtop the sweater, “It’s a black sweater with ‘fuck you’ in bold- how nice can it  _ possibly _ be?”

“...It still looks good.”

“Appreciated,” he drawls sarcastically, rolling his eyes, lips quirked in amusement.

Drista takes the momentary breakthrough of the old Tommy as a win, and can’t stop her own lips from turning, the soft grin mirroring that of the boy stuck on the bed.

Everything’s going to be alright.

_ It’s going to be okay. _

\---

“Wait so you like… you had an elytra this  _ entire time, _ and  _ never used it?!” _ The girl gasps half an hour later, hand pressed against her chest, face scrunched as if physically wounded, “ _ TOMMY! _ You could have caused so much mayhem with that, and no one would know! For  _ shame!” _

“Shut the fuck up bitch,” he snorts, shifting his flared wings- which were actually  _ really pretty  _ **_what the fuck-_ ** back behind him, smoothing down a few stray feathers, “I had-  _ have- _ a  _ lot _ of stuff that the others don’t. Comes with growing up in 2b2t,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

Now  _ that _ was something Drista learned from Deo, though it didn’t ever stop the shock factor.

To this day, even months after being told, Drista  _ still _ cannot believe that  _ Tommy motherfucking innit _ is  **_Bloodletter._ **

One of the most powerful players to ever step in fight club, a living fucking  _ legend _ that has been said, and recorded, to have defeated a group of twenty griefers with only an end crystal, his elytra, and glimmering trident.

To this day, the word  **_[Silence]_ ** still rings in 2b2t’s communicator chat, bringing most to their needs  _ begging _ to be spared, and others lying on the ground, praying to the mortal deity that walks their lands. Praying to fight by his side. Praying to kill. Praying to  _ live _ and  _ thrive _ beneath his boot, even as blood soaks the ground and his trident rips through their throats, wings beating and hot against the scorching sun.

Even now, that fucking trident is a  _ legend- _ few have ever managed to get the high enchants to make a replica, but none have ever mastered it like the boy in front of her.

Not even  _ Technoblade _ , the mad bastard he is, has a replica of the blade, though it is certainly close- riptide 2 and channeling, if she remembers correctly.

Plus, even with a replica, everyone knew in that damned anarchy server knew that “Bloodletter” had bright blond hair, sea blue eyes, scarred pale skin, and a pair of wings that burned in the sun like fire.

That same boy, one treated as a  _ god _ by all those who befall to anarchy, sat before her wounded, starving, but still  _ oh so strong. _

Still  _ alive. _

Still  **_fighting._ **

Drista Rodgers respects very few people, but at the moment-

Tommyinnit stands at the top of that very same list.

“Hey Drista,” her name uttered by cracked, scarred snaps her out of her daze, and turquoise eyes burn at him beneath the porcelain mask, filled with curiosity. Her companion tilts his head questioningly, “what did you bring with you when you came here? I know you didn’t have netherite when I saw you last time, but do you have it now?”

She shakes her head.

“Ah, lemme guess… diamond?”

She nods.

Blue eyes boar into her questioningly, and she flinches at the stare, “U-Uh, well, I have a dog named Mammy…” his eyes light up in interest, “an netherite sword, a shield, a enchanted crossbow, a couple potions, and some food.”

“...” Tommy stares blankly, and furrows his brow, “Wait… that’s  _ it? _ That’s all you have?”

“Couldn’t really bring much with me if I was running away,” she bites, crossing her arms moodily, mind drawing back to-  _ no. _

No she is  _ not _ remembering that.

_ She can do this later. _

Sighing, the boy opens his inventory and plucks out a shulker box, opens it to pull out a black one, then another one, and opens the second one.

The girl can only watch, open mouthed, when Tommy wields the fucking  _ trident _ in hand, and point’s the hand towards her as he plots the shulkers back inside one another and then his inventory, “Here, take it as a gift Dris, you deserve it! After all...”

Lips quirk in amusement, eyes soft upon bearing down on her form, continuing at her disbelieving stare, “...you were the only one to believe and not want to exile me. You tried to fight for me, against your own  _ brother’s orders, _ and I cannot thank you enough. Here, it’s yours.”

Shakily reaching out, Drista grasps the handles, feeling the magic of the powerful enchants smooth up against her core and she  _ shudders _ upon feeling what enchants were upon it.

Riptide.

Mending.

**_Loyalty._ **

Pressing the staff against her chest, she curls in on herself, knuckles white on the handle, face wet.

_ It’s hot, _ she tells herself,  _ it’s so hot today. It’s just sweat, that’s all it is! _

But she’s lying.

It’s cold, but Tommy just brings warmth to her form like the light of a fireplace hearth.

_ So this is the phoenix, _ her subconscious- a dark, rancid part of her that seems  _ too much _ like Dream some days- muses from the corner of her mind, watching the bright boy grin, magic akin to that of the sun. Comforting and so,  _ so _ very warm.

The entity smiles, sharp fangs glinting ominously,  **_I like him!_ **

\---


	6. Comrades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Deo talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW UH THANKS FOR 700+ KUDOS AND 170 BOOKMARKS??? HOLY SHIT I DIDN'T THINK YALL WOULD LIKE THIS BUT IG I MISJUDGED THE POWER OF SIMPS AND PEOPLE WANTING THESE CHILDREN TO HAVE BETTER LIVES SMH.
> 
> And i love to see yall ramble in the comments,,, i love seeing comments.
> 
> They fuel my desire to write.
> 
> Please comment, I love to see them uwu

\---

If you asked Tommyinnit how he had managed to managed to grief 2b2t’s most beloved monument, the Jesus Statue, before he was even 11, he’d just shrug and say “I found it and hated it, so I blew it up.”

And that’s what he did.

Set an almost impossible amount of TNT, hidden within the base, and blew the entire thing to fucking smithereens, killing over three hundred of its inhabitants, and many more wounded.

His ender chest had never been so full.

If you asked Tommy how he met TimeDeo, he’d smile. “Met him at fight club! We beat the piss outta each other, and stuck with the other after it!”

And that was that.

Strange way to make a friend, sure, but nothing forges a good friendship like beating the snot out of one another, then saving the other’s life from griefers.

Nothing much, but he got a friend out of it.

Not a particularly sane friend, but to be fair, Tommy himself hadn’t been sane either- never has been- and has always tended to be a little bit _trigger happy_ when with others. This same friend shared his bloodlust, if in more contained amounts, and helped him with some of his most dangerous, powerful stunts to date.

Said friend is also in front of him, arms crossed, and scolding him roguishly.

“Ender dammit Tommy!” He taps his foot impatiently, shaking his head, “You just gave away a fucking _TRIDENT!_ To _DRISTA_ of all people, you dumb fuck!”

“How was _I_ supposed to know that she would immediately go hunting?!” The blond argues, glaring into crimson orbs, huffing, “Besides, it’s just a trident with a couple of enchants- it’s not like I gave her my _personally made_ trident! For fucks sake Deo, just because I’m not that smart doesn’t mean I don’t think!”

The brunette scoffs, and sets his hands on his hips, narrowing ruby orbs behind thick, rectangular shades.

Tommy eyes’ his companion’s outfit, noting the lack of suit.

Gone was the pristine, black suit and orange tie, and now sat a white T-shirt, red jean jacket, blue jeans, and black wholecat shoes. As always, despite the fact it’s _summer,_ his christmas hat sits on his head, unbothered by time or stain.

_‘Simple as always,’_ he thinks, rolling his eyes fondly.

Deo scowls at him, then huffs, shaking his head at the younger boy, palming his aching temples, “Ender, what am I going to do with you Tommy?” He wonders, groaning into his hand.

“Kill me?” He asks cheekily, cheshire grin widening when the older male gasps, smacking his arm playfully. Tommy huffs, whining, “I’m trying to get better and here you are _hitting me!_ You’re a horrible best friend, you suck, bitch!”

“If I have to handle this dull, bitchass existence,” he begins sassily, wagging a finger, “then so do you motherfucker! Besides, everyone’s worried about you!”

The blonde sobers at that, knowing of the countless citizens worried for his health, and he groans, rubbing his head, “Fuck…!” Teeth grind in annoyance when Deo _beams_ at him, face so fucking _smug_ that Tommy just wants to _punch him._ “I hate it when you’re right, dickhead!”

“Aren’t I always?” He wonders, leaning back, lips pulled into a sharp smirk that has his best friend groaning in annoyance, throwing one of the stuffed animals- given to him by the mother and children within the bay- on the bed at the man, cheeks red and eyes narrow, feathers ruffled, “Shut the fuck up, dickhead!”

_‘Ah, now_ **_there’s_ ** _the Tommy I know,’_ Deo muses, lips shifting from it’s prior sharp smirk into something _softer,_ more _genuine._

The sixteen-year old chuffs, swiping his hands lazily at the man, and falls back into the soft, plush pillows stationed behind him, turning his head to his friend, “Hey bitch,” humming, crimson eyes shift towards to the teen’s form, “how many shulkers do you have left from our time in…” he hesitates, just for a second, but that’s all Deo needs to know on what his friend is trying to ask.

He smiles thinly, shaking his head, “I still have a couple,” he says consideringly, canines bared and _sharp,_ “like… two of the black and white ones, a lime one, as well as a pink and yellow one too. Though…” he bares his teeth and _howls_ a laugh at the boy, beaming, “certainly not as many as you, Mr. I-have-almost-two-thousand-shulker-boxes!”

Tommy flushes- it’s not _his fault_ that he killed a whole bunch of experienced players and was a legend amongst the server in his earlier days- with burning cheeks, and throws one of the countless pillows at his friend, managing to hit him in the face with it, stopping his laughter for a moment.

And then it picked up, louder than before.

The blond hisses, feathers puffed.

“It’s not _my fault_ that I’m such a badass!” He shrieks, shooting up, his cheeks still flaring with color, “They died or lost against me, and I got their stuff! Easy as that, dickhead! You’re just jealous!”

“You’re right,” Deo relents, shrugging his shoulders, “I am jealous, but that doesn’t stop you from having _two thousand shulker boxes,_ now does it?”

Tommy flushes again.

“And-” the man continues, pushing his bangs out of his face, “-if you’re wondering what _exact_ stuff I have, I got some grade A tools, two sets of diamond armor I turned into netherite sometime last year, food, potions and crystals. Again, nothing _too_ much, but it’s helpful!”

Pressing his back against the pillows again, the blond rolls his eyes, arms crossed against his chest, “What about the gapples? Still got those?”

“No,” Deo disclosed, mouth set in a pout, “I gave those to our healers and soldiers. I kept some gapples, like… ten, but the rest as well as the enchanted apples were given to our soldiers and healers, to minimize the death toll during territory takeovers. ‘Ya know, normal stuff,” he says, rolling his shoulders sluggishly, popping his back.

_‘Well,’_ Tommy purses his lips in thought, eyes narrow, _‘at least he has_ **_some_ ** _gapples at his disposal, though I will_ **_definitely_ ** _be giving him some of mine later.’_

And it isn’t like he doesn’t have, oh I dunno, _over twenty thousand apples to spare or anything._

_‘Though,’_ he sets his thumb on his lip, considering his options with narrow eyes, _‘If I were able to get them regeneration and strength potions, would our allies consider us more valuable, and see us as a bigger chance for better trade? Hm… something to focus on later.’_

He pulls out his task book, which Deo had gifted back to him when he came in, and opens it.

**_To Do List:_ **

  * _Technoblade and Philza left the Empire, gave up their rights as the kings. Pete stepped down 9 months ago, couldn’t handle the pressure, and neither can Wisp or Cal. Take the empire for our own, they likely won’t fight the Bay for it._



  * _Deo deserves a goddamn vacation, give him one._



  * _~~Kara gave up the Corvarian Empire after Fitba left. Grab the territory and expand.~~ **Completed (She didn’t even fight for the land. She instead thanked us, and then left with some bags. Seems like Kara is leaving the SMP for good after all these years, we do not wish to follow her.) - Deo**_



  * _~~Same goes for Newfoundland. Grab Sophie while she’s still available, would make a great secretary if anything happens.~~ **In Progress (Land has been taken, but Sophie seems to be iffy on how to handle your approach in wanting her to be your secretary Tommy, and wary to see if you’re anything like Wilbur(?). She is hoping for a meeting with you later this month.) - Deo**_



  * _~~Get an alliance with Log Lagoon. If they won’t accept, offer a shulker box. If they don’t accept then, kill them.~~ **Completed (They have accepted upon receiving the shulker box, which contains three sets of Protect 3, Thorns 2 Diamond Armor, two Netherite Swords, five Gapples, and two Potions of Swiftness. They have also opened full trade with us. More to talk about later.) - Deo**_



  * _~~Fruitberries disbanded his nation, but is still avaliable to grab. Do so and dangle Dream’s “dirty laundry”, might join just so he can defeat Dream. **DON’T FUCK THIS UP!!! FRUIT IS TOO VALUABLE TO LOSE!** ~~**Completed (Fruitberries has joined our Ranks, his former land claimed, and is looking forward to meeting you) - Deo**_



Tommy glances at the note at the bottom of the page, and feels his lips twist, eyes crinkling in something akin to joy.

  * _We now own land in Europe, North America, Asia, and Oceania. We also grabbed Tubbo’s former land in Indian Ocean while you guys were gone, and have rebuilt it into an ocean trading empire. Currently doing the same with North America, Asia and Oceania. **-TimeDeo**_



Oh.

Oh this is just _perfect._

And based on the empty “in progress” beside the Empire, Deo is probably waiting until Tommy’s back at full health, so he can prove his worth and take the throne _forcibly_ if he needs to from Pete.

_‘A smart decision,’_ the blond relents, lips quirked in amusement at his right hand’s hidden strategy.

The blank piece beside “Deo’s Vacation” has the teen snorting in disbelief, eyes rolling out his head.

His own best friend doesn’t want to leave his position because he’s a fucking workaholic.

Ender, that’s…

That’s so fucking _Deo._

Rolling his eyes, Tommy pulls out the quill and begins jotting more stuff down.

  * _Use Ghast Tears and Glistening Melon to make more Regeneration and Health Potions. Use the Glowstone, Redstone and Gunpowder to make Regeneration +, Regeneration II, and Healing II. Also make Harming and splash versions of this potions._



**Note:** You can use my “Brewing Ingredients” shulker boxes, I have plenty to spare. As of right now, I can hand over 10 safely and that should get us plenty of potions. I shall also be hanging over a stack of regular and enchanted gapples for extra use.

Tommy slaps the covers closed, slips the quill back through the back slang, and chucks the book at the babbling Deo’s head, grinning when it smacks him in the face.

The man sputters, glasses slipping off his nose and clattering to the floor.

The brunette glares at the teen, who only cackles, snuggling deeper into the covers.

_Yes,_ Tommy breathes, grinning to himself when his friend brings up his hand, longest finger extended, and chuffs, pouting, _this is going smoothly._

His eyes narrow.

**_Too smoothly…_ **

\---

Drista falls back into the building four hours later, long after Deo leaves to head back into the city, pastel blue shulker box in hand, heavy with precious materials, and collapses on the chaise across from Tommy, trident slipping from her twitching fingers and falling to the oak floor with a loud clatter.

Tommy flips a page of his book- The Legacy of Bloodletter _(it’s a good book okay?!)-_ and hums, eyes never straying from the inked pages, “How was trident practice?”

The girl groans shakily into the pillow, rubbing at her red, wounded hands, bloodied clothing pressing against the crimson leather.

The male snorts, flipping another page, “Yeah, welcome to being a trident fighter, it only gets worse from here Dris.”

She wails in despair, even as the boy cackles at her, “FUCK YOU AND FUCK THIS!”

Ah, the beauty of a friendship forged through mutual bloodlust.

Truly a thing of wonder.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/27/21 Edit: strikethrough through the text, fixed.


	7. Reports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda just a filler, but Tommy gets a huge break of news from Deo on the expansion of Business Bay.
> 
> Tommy finally realizes how much political power he really has.
> 
> \---  
> Longest chapter by like 40 words, lets goooooo

\---

Tommy awoke the next morning to a emerald and yellow parrot pecking on his window, talons clutching a small brown parcel once he opened his window to let the damned little shit inside.

It flocks to his shelf, dropping the parcel on his comfy, springy bed, and squawks, flapping its bright wings as it sets its bottom on the oak wood plank.

Clouded sapphire orbs narrow at the little menace, and the teen scoffs, swiping the package and setting it on his lap. “Of course you’d still be alive, you little shit,” he grumbles tiredly, “thought you would’ve died at this point! Should’ve known better,” he says, shooting the avian a sharp, deadpan stare.

The bird- Limen- squawks again, beak curved into a fucking  _ smug ass smile. _

Would Luke be mad if he killed this little shit?

Probably.

_ Dammit. _

Grumbling, he rips open the package, and pulls out the items.

A glowing compass, a  _ particularly _ bright health potion, and a small book-  _ ‘Probably a report from Deo,’ _ he muses.

He opens the book first- might as well check progress.

**_Hey Tommy!_ **

**_If you’re reading this, then it looks like Limen did his job- guess I owe Luke five diamonds now, dammit._ **

**_Anyway, great news! We have trade with the Modded Communities now! As of right now, we have trade with Food Plus, Pam’s Harvestcraft, Adventure Backpacks, Magical Crops, and Biomes O’Plenty at the moment._ **

**_Not a whole lot in SAY, but they are giving us a LOT to work with._ **

**_First, Food Plus is sending us two crate shipments, Pam’s community is sending us recipes and lots of fruits and vegetables, we’re getting eight backpacks, AND we’re getting a bunch of magical crops! Specifically Coal, Nether, Obsidian, Ender, Cow, Creeper, Ghast and Spider!_ **

_**Biomes O’Plenty is being “installed” into a separate realm that only we’ll have access to, a whole new world with new resources! Ain’t that great? Looking at the list, seems like Boreal Forest, Alps, Coniferous Forest, Grove, Jade Cliffs and Maple Woods or Meadow would be best for us to settle new lands, for now at least. Luke suggest having him, Drista and Bitz go claim some of the land and bring groups of builders, farmers and soldiers with them, separating with the three as the leaders.** _

**_I said I would talk it over with you first._ **

**_No joke, we’re getting all of this by the end of next month, ain’t that great? No joke though, if one of the soldiers hadn’t let it slip that you were back at Business Bay, I don’t think any of the deals would have been made as they did._ **

**_Apparently you got a lot of simps and apologists Toms- shocker, I know._ **

**_2b2t heard about ‘ya being back too, and it seems like we’ll have an alliance with them in a few weeks so that’s good._ **

**_On top of that, those shulkers you gave really did us good!_ **

_**All our soldiers have at least 5 gapples, swiftness, regen, health and fire resistance potions now, as the bare minimum! The clerics are working overtime to pump out as many high quality potions as possible, and it looks like we’ll have a surplus of invisibility, night vision, healing, regeneration, fire resist, slow falling and strength potions soon!** _

**_In other words, Business Bay is thriving better than it has in years, and it’s all thanks to you, Tommy._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_TimeDeo_ **

**_P.S.: The clerics said to take this potion to speed up your healing, said they made it superpowered or something. Hell if I know, I’m clueless about potions!_ **

Humming, the blonde snaps the book shut and pulls out the health potion, rubbing gently at it’s glass casing, eyes peering into the glittering, apple shaded liquid, a soft glow illuminating off of it’s form.

Popping the cork, Tommy grabs the handle and takes a swig of the healing magick, the taste strong and sweet against his tongue enough that it makes him want to  _ gag. _ But he pushes through, gulping down the rest of the potion, feeling it slide down his throat and be absorbed into his body, magic pumping through his veins.

His  _ red _ veins.

His  _ very  _ **_very_ ** red veins.

He winces, and slides down beneath the covers (his body aches to get up and  _ move, _ to run and be  _ free, _ but he can’t do that yet. He’s gotta work on getting  _ healthy _ first and foremost, on top of regaining his lost weight. That comes  _ first, _ no matter what he says otherwise), pulling the plush, wool blankets over his form, feathers tucked against his back and pressed into the soft pillow.

“Swqak?”

He cracks open an eye (when did he close them?) and blearily watches the bird before him chirp, springing onto his bed, emerald feathers ruffled.

Limen plots its behind on the bed, and shuts its eyes, form almost  _ curling _ to sleep.

Tommy snorts.

Smushing his head back into the pillows, he pulls out another book for planning- Deo, the bastard, still has his other one- and begins writing stuff down.

**_Things to do for World Expansion:_ **

  * _Luke has suggested sending him and the others into the soon-to-be portal to expand Business Bay._



  * _Sounds like a good idea, though I don’t think Drista is ready for a leadership role, not like The Council’s. Not yet, at least._



The blonde hums, and continues to write.

  * _If we send builders, farmers and soldiers, then while our Bay holds close to a million people nowadays, we can only send certain amounts. 20 soldiers, 10 farmers, and 15 builders each- as much as we want to expand, we need to limit ourselves._



  * _This shouldn’t be an issue, goddammit. Deo gave me an estimation on how much of our workforce we have, and we have at least **five thousand** of each category dammit!_



  * _Alps is a dangerous biome with little reward at face value, but is known to have a surplus of emeralds in it’s intense, snowy caverns. Could make a sort of “Mountain City” with a castle at the top made up of quartz and ice? Has natural hot springs that, while rare, are insanely useful- gives an extremely strong “regeneration” effect, like that of a Regeneration + potion, that lasts up to three minutes. Bitz is a planner, and is extremely careful- would be best if he handled this biome, should he want it._



  * _I don’t know much about Boreal Forest, but I do know that it’s made up of various types of wood, as well as a certain type of orange fruit that is only accessible in the forest and the rare autumn hills biome. Food and water are rather easy to find, and farming will be plentiful. Worrying that with so many trees, mobs will spawn from the shadows easier. Clear out a large area from vegetation and trees, and place torches. **HEAVILY IMPORTANT!!!!** Seems like the kind of environment that Drista would thrive in._



  * _The Grove is another biome that’s somewhat common, and like the others, is semi-cold in temperature. Villages are common in this biome as well, and we could likely set up a base near their village and trade for items we cannot usually get. A fair amount of animals, wheat spawns naturally, and water is clean. Plenty of woods, and good caves. Definitely a biome for Bitz or Luke._



  * _Maple Woods is certainly a challenging biome to transverse and make a stable home, however its food, while scarce, is usually enough to feed multiple people, and the water is shockingly clean most of the time as long as the Woods aren’t connected to a swamp. Villages are rare, but not unheard of, and it’s common enough biome that most wouldn’t glance at it twice. Drista or Bitz would have to man this biome, though Luke could also do it. **NOTE: A large, lit up farm is absolutely NESSECARY!**_



  * _Meadow is probably the easiest biome to survive in, without a doubt. While trees are sparse, we can bring wood with the builder team, so that isn’t really an issue, and there are plenty of animals to farm and kill for food. Probably best to have some sort of trading capital here, especially when you consider how common villages are. Drista would also do well in this biome._



  * _Jade Cliffs is certainly a beautiful biome, what with its waterfalls and overhanging cliffsides. Mountain heights depends and vary, as does the survival rate, but it’s a biome that is high risk = high rewards. Wood is everywhere, as is stone, but there is a mob abundance due to the various shadows. Wild carrots can be found and harvested, and this is usually where the most harvestable soil lies. Best if Luke, and **ONLY** Luke, were to take this biome. **NOTE: Unlike the other biomes, which are on the colder side, Jade Cliffs are known to be much warmer- not desert level, but** **definitely** **hotter than, say, Maple Woods. SECONDARY NOTE: Jade Cliffs tend to rain. A lot. Harvest the water since it’s clean and turn it into a viable water source!**_



  * _Like Jade Cliffs, the Coniferous Forest rains quite a bit, but unlike the Cliffs, is on a much colder scale. Not like the Alps, but more akin to that of the Maple Woods or Boreal Forest. Amber spawns in an abundance in this biome, so make sure, if a colony is settled there, to gather the amber underground. The trees here are insanely tall, so it might be best to make a sort of “treehouse city”, especially when one considers how often mobs pop out of the shadows due to the intense amount of shade. Pigs, chicken, cows, sheep, wolves and more live and thrive naturally in the forest, meaning that food is plentiful to the taking. Villages are made by the edges, and this biome is known to harvest Woodland Mansions as well, so villagers and illagers are possible should one live here- another reason to live in the trees. Either Luke or Bitz has to take this biome, due to how much work it’ll take. **NOTE: the Coniferous Forest is known to be relatively close to Alp mountains and hanging cliffsides.**_



Tommy scans the passages once more, making sure that everything is correct, then shuts the book with a hearty slap, sighing, “Nice to know that other communities know of me, and I’m glad we can expand further, but  _ dear ender _ is this a lot of shit to deal with right now…”

_ ‘At least things are going our way,’ _ he muses, shaking his head,  _ ‘maybe I can offer some land in this new ‘realm’ and gift it to our allies? Hm… food for thought.’ _

Though… he should probably have some miners look for amethyst- he knows it’s about as rare as netherite, but it’s so utterly  _ useful, _ and besides that, it’s more powerful than diamonds.

It’d be nice to have, but… he’s so  _ tired. _

Not physically of course (even if his bones  _ do _ ache something fierce), he’s just tired of staying  _ bedridden! _ He wants to move, to fly, to  _ soar! _ He wants- no,  _ needs _ to talk to his own people, he’s going fucking stir crazy!

“Ya know what?” Eyes gleam mischievously, sharp teeth barred, “Fuck the healers, Tommyinnit does whatever the fuck  _ he _ wants!”

And just like that, the male hops out of his bed, wings stretching, and walks out of his bedroom for the first time since arriving home.

\---

Phoenixes are ancient, mythical creatures that depend on sociability to remain stable, to not turn grey and dusty, to flare their flames for all to see and be  **_praised_ ** like the sun for it.

It’s been a while since Tommyinnit has been praised, and ‘ya know what? Fuck being a phoenix!

He’s going to be the goddamn  **_sun-_ ** all knowing, compressing, bright and  **_dangerous._ **

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, casually adding in mods to make Tommy and Business Bay more powerful: and I oop
> 
> HEY FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER, INSTA AND TUMBLR! 0W0
> 
> Twitter: InudaFox  
> Instagram: Inudathefox  
> Tumblr: delomaniaofficial


	8. ARTWORK!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoenix!Tommy artwork!

I did Phoenix tommy doodles! Link below- i hope it actually works hhhh

[Phoenix Tommy doodles I did the other day just for this fucking story lmao](https://delomaniaofficial.tumblr.com/post/641172969133080576/phoenix-tommy-doodles-aaaaa)

If you can see the actual artwork and want to support me, I have a kofi and my commissions are open uwu

sorry it isn't a chapter, I'll delete this later!


	9. Business Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy goes out to explore the Bay and finds out just how much has changed.

\---

When Tommy had first arrived back in Business Bay, he was  _ kinda _ going in and out of consciousness, on top of clinging and only focusing on Deo- as such, he hadn’t noticed the how  _ big _ Business Bay had actually gotten.

But,  _ oh no, _ he has  _definitely_ noticed the difference now.

The land, once fairly barren with save a few cobblestone towers or huts, had been entirely remodeled and crammed, people- humans and hybrids alike- milling about peacefully, lanterns hanging from the various lampposts, and houses crammed beside one another. He has to constantly spin or step out of the way to keep children from barreling into him, and Tommy has the innate desire to  _ cry _ when he sees a young enderman hybrid bounce by him, chasing after his friends- a pair of humans.

For the first time, humans and hybrids were at  _ peace, _ and Tommy could feel his chest grow warm and fuzzy at the thought- nay, the  _ sight _ before him.

It’s nice, he finds.

Very  _ very _ nice.

It grows even better when others catch sight of him and whisper, awe shining in their eyes- both at his impressive set of wings (which glitter in the sunlight, a comfortable heat bounding off of them), as well as his features.

They knew who he is.

He maybe scarred to hell and back, and thinner, but they all recognize the creator of Business Bay.

Many on the street bow their heads to him in respect, others nodding with grins, or waving joyfully.

Tommy waves to them, smiling, and twists his wings, flexing them as he does so, nodding to the various citizens.

One person- a vendor, he realizes- waves him over, and he steps closer, slipping past the crowd and standing in front of the small shop.

He recognizes the woman in front of him immediately, and feels his chest swell.

“Heya kid, how are ‘ya?” The piglin hybrid in front begins, grinning impishly at him. He scoffs at her, rolling his eyes, grumbling, “Not a kid, Mista.”

Her smile widens, displaying a row of sharp teeth, and even an sharper pair tusks, cracked but a beautiful, glittering opal color. Her skin shown with a healthy, warm beige color, and her hair, short and messily cut, is a rich thulian, much different from Technoblade’s own long, rose-pink locks. A white, heart-shaped eye patch covers her left eye from the rest of the world (even with it on, Tommy knows what lies beneath it. What  _ horrible injury _ he had caused, all those years ago), with her right seeable and a dark rosewood iris stares into him, amused.

Her outfit is just a white dress shirt, brown leather pants, and some gold bracelet jewelry (he knows she doesn’t wear shoes, due to having hooves-like legs and feet).

“Sure you are,” she continues, waving a hand dismissively, “I mean, sure, you’re tall and all, but that’s about it. Until you’re eighteen, ‘ya ain’t an adult, Bloodletter.”

Of  _ course _ she would use his stage name- why the fuck  _ wouldn’t _ she?

_ Bitch. _

Rolling his eyes again- and flipping her his longest finger- he steps closer and hops on the vendor countertop, overlooking the street, watching others mill by passively, though certainly curious.

Mista bats at him, huffing playfully, “OI! Get the hell of the merchandise!”

“Oh fuck you,” he responds, just as playful, batting at her in return. She snorts, taking an emerald from a kid and handing them a bag full of bread and apples, shooing them off and stuffing the emerald in her chest. “Anyway, how did it turn out like _ this?” _

Mista pauses, glancing at the boy, nose crinkled in confusion, pulling out another bag of apples, as well as some carrots, handing them to a human woman, who trades them for two emeralds. “What’d ‘ya mean?”

Tommy snaps his arms out, gesturing wildly, “ _ THIS! _ Like, everything! How did it come to this! When the boys and I first started Business Bay, we had maybe ten citizens! And now we have…”

“Almost one and a half million people,” she supplies, handing out another baggie.

“...almost one and a half million people in only like, what, a year and a half?! That’s  _ crazy!” _

“It is,” she agrees, nodding her head, tail swaying behind her, “but you have to remember that a lot of the original owners of various kingdoms left or died, meaning that without order, those kingdoms fell and it’s people left. Just a few months ago over fifty thousand people arrived to the Bay because Bosnia finally fell, since Jack left for that new SMP and Tim just couldn’t handle the pressure, so he quit.”

The blonde winces, “Yikes, sounds like a shitty situation.”

She shrugs, pillaging through her belongings, “Yeah, it was. A friend of mine had been from there, and she said that while the main part had been protected, smaller villagers outside the kingdom kept getting raided by pillagers, and many died because of that. Good riddance of a kingdom like that, if you ask me, but maybe that’s just my opinion. Who the hell knows at this point?”

“Could be a mixture,” he snorts, shaking his head, “but I’m happy that people got out of that situation, good for them.”

“Yeah,” Mista muses, pulling out two water bottles and handing one to her companion, who nods gratefully, “‘ya got a point. Still, it was thanks to that happening that the Bay got more people, and a whole bunch of smaller, unimportant landmarks had to be knocked down to make room for all the new groups, though some were kept- like the towers!”

“That’s good,” Tommy breathes, shaking his head, “I would’ve been  _ pissed _ if you guys had knocked those down!”

“They’re ugly as fuck, Bloodletter,” the hybrid snorts, ignoring the sharp  _ “THEY ARE SO FUCKING NOT!” _ from the younger male, “how you’re a phoenix, a bird of beauty, and yet create such horrid contraptions and builds, I’ll never know.”

He slaps her with his wing in retaliation, smirking when she yelps in surprise. She pouts at him, slapping her hand onto his shoulder, but he only grins, and Mista huffs, “Dick!”

Tommy sips at his water, obviously pleased with himself.

Mista huffs again, tail swinging, and leans on the counter, bottle in hand. “When you left, a lot of people were angry, at least until they learned that Phil pretty much forced you to- and Ender knows you can’t reveal your prowess to him, otherwise a whole new can of worms would open, and everyone knows that nobody wants that.” She sighs, brushing a hand through her hair, “And lemme guess, Phil’s still a shit dad?”

“Yep.”

“Techno still wants anarchy of all governments despite having created his own in the Empire?”

_ “Yep.” _

She snorts, shaking her head- as if disappointed- “Should’ve known. As much as we of the nether cheer for Techno’s power, his morals are questionable, and Ender knows that he complains about nobody respecting his ideals when he himself can’t even respect others’ to begin with.”

_ ‘She’s got a point,’ _ Tommy muses, frowning. “Techno is an asshole, but I still see him as family Mista, even if I kind of hate him.”

“But you still like Wilbur better than Techno.” She states.

“But I still like Wilbur better than Techno,” he agrees, “maybe when the others change, we can be a family…  _ maybe. _ But until then, they are my enemies, and will stay as such.”

Mista winces in sympathy, patting the boy on the back, careful of his wings, “Sheesh, sorry bud. At least you still have Deo, Luke and Bitz!”

“And Wisp and Drista,” he quips, smiling at her.

“And Wisp and Drista,” she agrees, nodding her head at him, lips quirked, “Now Bloodletter, you should probably go check out the fields, I heard the farmers are having a  _ wonderful _ harvest this month!”

Tommy nods gratefully, patting her on the shoulder, “Thanks Mist, what would I do without ‘ya?”

“Still be in the pit back at 2b2t,” she quips sassily, rolling her eyes fondly at the young teen before her, “Now shoo shoo, I have customers to feed!”

He grins, and within a blink of an eye, is gone, stray feathers swaying to the warm, cobblestone tiles.

Mista catches one, brushing a finger against the soft texture. Raising a hand, she holds it up to the sun.

Crimson dances through through the cracks, a ray of gold displayed over her face.

She smiles.

“Pfft, thanks kiddo.”

The feather glows, humming in her hand, as if responding to her.

Damn, that kid just never stops surprising her, does he?

\---

Hovering over the city, Tommy swings through the air, watching below him as the cobble roads turn to gravel, expansive fields of gold stretching as far as the eye can see, tall wooden and stone towers hanging atop the masses of wheat and grains, their tarp windmills blowing lazily in the breeze.

Stacks of hay bales press against the farm houses, cows, chickens and pigs stumbling about in their pens, huffing and munching on the grass and stray seeds. Horses lay in the open fields, rolling in the grass, eating hay, or napping.

It’s natural, and so  _ so _ very charming.

Hundreds of farmers work in the fields, ploughing the ground with their hoes and bundling the woven wheat together, then setting it in their carts, digging seeds into the ground, and beginning again.

Again,  _ very charming. _

Following the breeze, Tommy floats through the air and daintily lands on his feet, the wind tussling his hair.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

The wind whispers in his ears,  _ welcome, _ it says, and blows past the grains of gold that mark the various fields. Pulling out a shulker, filled with five others of its kind, Tommy steps closer to the farm house and knocks, dutifully waiting for the spruce door to open.

A minute later, it does, and there standing before him is none of than his best friend Luke.

Who he hasn't _really_ seen since he arrived- only brief glimpses here or there, but never getting a good look at the male.

But now...

But now he _can._

**And he _will._**

Both hybrids stare at each other, gaping, and drop their materials, bodies slamming into one another and limbs wrapped around the other, hands gripping onto the soft material of their shirts.

Two eyes tear up, and chests warm under the warm, golden sun.

_ Today’s a good day. _

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me crying in the club about the Piglin named Mista I had that died to a Creeper. So now she lives eternal in this story.
> 
> God speed my dude, god speed.
> 
> Also, comments! I love 'em! They fuel me! I love to read ya'll comments, especially if you're pointing stuff out that you like, like the interactions between characters!


	10. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy runs through the past few days, reminisces and aches at the physical loss of his best friend.
> 
> OR: I finally introduce angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA LONG CHAPTER GO BRR 3k HAVE FUN

\---

Five days have passed since Tommy first stepped outside and explored Business Bay, and a  _ lot _ of things have happened.

First, Deo and Drista yelled and scolded him for taking off, and threatened to baby proof his door so he can’t get out.

He only snorted at them, arms crossed,  _ “I’m a bird,” _ he’d said, rolling his eyes at the duo,  _ “and powerful, I’ll just break the wall or window and fly out. Besides, I was in a bed for a  _ **_week!_ ** _ You assholes can’t even last  _ **_three days_ ** _ with that bullshit, so don’t try it on me!” _

They’d quieted, and pouted at him, but he would not budge, and soon the three came to a compromise. Tommy would have to stay in the house until ten in the morning, then he would be allowed to leave, but  _ only _ after eating a hearty breakfast and grabbing some healing pots just in case. His ridiculously powerful trident,  **_[Silence]_ ** _ , _ was added to the deal to keep on his person, just to stay safe and be able to fight in case he’s swarmed by something (people, pillagers, mobs- Tommy has a lot of enemies these days) while he’s out.

Plus, if it’s raining, he can use riptide and just about  _ chuck _ himself out of the situation.

( _ ‘Always good to have in case that  _ **_bastard_ ** _ shows up,’ _ his mind hissed, and Tommy finds it hard to disagree with the subconscious thought.)

Second, he finally got cleared by the healers yesterday after a constant stream of health and regeneration potions, meaning he can finally do his job and be head of the Bay again! Though, he’s still underweight, but that’s quickly being take care of- another week and he should be a good enough weight to fight and travel!

Third, Tommy finally got a scheduled time to challenge Pete for the land and power of the Antarctic Empire (Luke and Drista both purposed joining the two nations together when- not if,  _ when- _ Tommy gets the crown, and calling the nation Business Empire. Not the greatest of names, but it’ll do it’s job, Tommy muses), and is still preparing for  _ that _ whole mess.

Fourth, he finally got a self updating catalogue of the various divisions, and gives his gratitude to his council and friends when he sees how organized everything is. The divisions lie in seven categories; Redstone Engineers, Farmers, Miners, Builders, Soldiers, All Rounder’s, and Resource Gatherers (Tommy questioned why there isn’t medics, but then it was explained that all rounders' were  _ literal _ jacks of all trades. And he does mean  _ all trades.  _ Tommy didn’t question the subject further).

And with seven divisions, lay seven figureheads of those said divisions.

Rowan Alwine, head of all Redstone Engineers, a young man with a thick irish accent, and an unparalleled talent for Redstone of all kinds. Based on the various reports, Sam and Rowan probably would have been great friends and even better rivals, had they ever met. Known “gamer” tag is  **Rowstone.**

Faith Cleaves, head of all farmers; an interesting 30-year old american woman, with a knack for growing food even through the harshest winters and droughts. Tommy only rose in eyebrow when he saw that the short, 5 foot woman is a zombie hybrid. Her tag in the system is  **OneFaith.**

Definitely not something he expects.

Spencer Kinsley, the head of Business Bay’s own miners; also age 30, and a bat hybrid with a knack of knowing the best caves, due to his echolocation and natural sensory abilities. His profile says that he’s a single father to his daughter, but despite that, is a good dad on top of doing his job right and to the best of his abilities.

~~_ Tommy’s a little jealous, if he’s honest. _ ~~

Spencer’s communicator tag marks him as  **Kins_of_Kings.**

Alya Hartz, a dark skinned african-american badger hybrid at the crisp age of 29 who is the current head of all builders in the Bay. Tall and broad shouldered, this isn’t a woman you want to fuck with, for just as her species is known for, she’ll rip you to shreds if you cross her (Tommy’s kinda impressed, and that inspiring feeling in his chest only grows larger when he finds that Alya had been born and raised in 2b2t- though she had left shortly before he got to the server, it seems). Her communicator marks her as  **Build_a_Heart.**

Blaise Parcher, a soldier that had originally been from Bean Empire in his youth, quickly climbing the Bay’s ranks until he became commander. He’s a fighter, and a hunter to boot, always catching his victims even when they hide away from the rest of the world. Like most of the other heads, Blaise is a hybrid- though how he’s an  _ Elder Guardian _ hybrid, Tommy doesn’t understand- with pearly white hair fading to a sunset orange, tanned skin and seaweed-colored eyes, on top of being insanely tall (seriously, who the fuck stands at eight feet without being part Piglin, Hoglin, or Enderman? Then again, Guardians are  _ really _ fucking big… about the same size as a large slime… yeah, no, Tommy can get the man’s height). The man’s skillful with a sword and trident combo, and his tag on all coms is  **ParchedGuard** ( _ ‘It’s not funny,’ _ Tommy tells himself, stifling a laugh,  _ ‘it’s not funny!’ _ ).

Everest Sowell, the only other human in the head divisions other than Rowan. Being the second youngest at only 25 years old, despite his age, Everest is good at his job- which is all of them. A true jack of all trades, adept in all, master of none (though he seems to be _suspiciously good_ at brewing potions, based on the reports, so Tommy files that away for later). He’s an orphan, having been left on the outskirts of Antarctic Empire borders when he was only nine, and raised to be a thief- to steal, to pillage. However, he got caught in his late teens in the Bay, and found solace in their land, teaching himself to try and better the nation he learned to love. His tag is (and _no Tommy,_ his name is _not_ in **_any_** way, shape or form **_funny._** _Fuck you)_ commonly known as **Ever_rest_my_soul.**

Finally, Mista Mithril- a piglin hybrid that had saved Tommy and Deo from the pit when it had been bombed by her group of griefers. She’s in charge of gathering and cataloguing resources, and is damned good at it, especially for nether or end resources. To his knowledge, she’s one of the few people in Business Bay with fully enchanted, high quality netherite gear- of course it’s mostly from 2b2t, but all of it has mending, so she’s never really had to replace anything before, or if she did, it was some of her less valuable stuff, like her hoe or pickaxe. Her “tag” just so happened to be  **MistyMithy.**

Seven followers.

Seven followers that treat Tommy as some sort of minor  _ deity, _ and with the respect that no one other than  _ maybe  _ Tubbo ever gave him.

He found he liked the power, but he doesn’t let it go to his head- he has people to protect, after all, and he won’t turn out abusing his subjects with the very same power he’d been gifted.

No, he wasn’t going to be like Dream.

**_Never_ ** _ like Dream. _

At least he has the others to keep him in check- just in case the power begins to get to his head.

(It’ll keep him above water, in the end, he supposed.)

Going back to his initial points, fifth, he managed to gift his various departments chests to help them in their endeavors.

Redstone got six chests full of redstone blocks, iron blocks, diamonds, gold ingots, and slimeballs (he would have given them shulkers, but he didn’t have a shulker specifically for redstone, so he just pulled out a bunch of stuff from various shulkers and tossed it outside their headquarters inside the regular, oak chests he created, with a sign letting them know it was a gift from Tommy. Poppies and sunflowers were sent to the house the following morning, as well as a little music box that some in their department made for him. It plays “L’Manburg Anthem”, “Hallelujah”, “Shatter Me” and “Hanging Tree”- all songs that he genuinely adores, even if the anthem brings back some  _ not so great _ memories, it brings back ones dealing with the Wilbur that Tommy befriended and loved platonically, not the insane one he got lodged with. It… it’s nice).

Farmers got five cyan shulkers that contained various farming equipment, as well as a chest that carried “Horse Spawn Eggs” (magical little eggs that were used for all entities except villagers, but the best part is that mob ones  _ specifically _ don’t attack their creator, and fight alongside of them instead) that were gifted to him in 2b2t (seriously, that server is the most chaotic fraction ever, and yet they have some of the rarest shit in existence. It’s  _ bullshit). _ The chest carried 10 eggs that would spawn 10 horses from beyond the fabric of reality into existence, and they would be entirely loyal to whoever hatched the egg, as well as about ten stacks of bones to be turned into bonemeal. The shulkers, on the other hand, carried wheat, pumpkin and melon seeds, potatoes, carrots, sugarcane, cocoa beans, and two enchanted, netherite hoes he had specifically made from the previous diamond material.

(Tommy isn’t surprised when a chest is outside his house the next day, filled to the brim with cake. He’s happy, actually, though a bit aghast when he finds Drista sneaking up the steps, carrying two of his minicakes, a third stuffed in her mouth as she stares at him like a frightened deer.)

Miners get ten white shulkers filled to the brim with heavily enchanted netherite pickaxes, diamond shovels, compasses, clocks, torches, coal, night vision potions, and bread. Tommy also set a policy that Miners are to  _ always _ have at least ten wooden logs of any kind on their person so that they can make sticks and crafting tables if they need to.

(The following morning after the order, Tommy checks the magical, updating catalogue, and  _ grins _ when he finds that the miners collected over eight hundred diamonds, two thousand iron, and well over a thousand gold overnight due to being able to go literal  _ hours _ without going back to base.)

Builders are gifted five purple shulkers- specifically called “blocks”- that contain spruce wood, various stone brick, polished blackstone bricks, glass, prismarine bricks and quartz bricks within them (there _had_ been hay bales too, but Tommy turned those into bread and gifted it to the few orphanages scattered around the Bay, seeing as the building’s income was low despite having too many mouths to feed… he should _probably_ fix that later).

Soldiers and Hunter (they’re the same fucking division, they just focus on different aspects for  _ whatever fucking reason) _ was… interesting to think about, because Tommy had to manually go through and use a smithing table to turn the diamond into netherite using the various sets of armor and ingots he had at his disposal. On top of that, he had to turn the  _ weapons _ into netherite, but in the end, it was worth it- the division had thirty shulkers with filled with ninty sets of armor, god gapples, tridents, netherite swords, crossbows, arrows, shields, and netherite axes. He also equipped them with fire resistance, health, swiftness and strength potions, to give them that extra edge in battle should they need it, as well as a stack of diamond blocks and two stacks of netherite ingots, and from there left a message, then disappeared from the area, swinging through the sky and over the clouds.

(The picture he got the following morning of over a hundred of his own soldiers decked out in full, enchanted netherite gear, laughing, at least another two hundred men and women surrounding them, carrying enchanted diamond, leaning on one another grinning and swinging. Tommy doesn’t smile, he does  _ not-) _

When it comes to the All Rounder division, Tommy just left two each of his various shulkers- white, black, yellow, cyan, purple, and light blue- and told them to go buck wild with it all, then left, headache thumping and face stormy.

(Deo and Bitz was  _ way _ too amused at how frazzled Tommy was when he was brainstorming ideas, only to throw his arms up and gift the joker fuckers as much as they want as long as they leave him the  _ fuck _ alone with their “Im good at everything” bullshit.)

Finally, Tommy just sent the Resource Gatherers 10 white shulkers, filled with everything they could need (clocks, compasses, fishing rods, axes, pickaxes, shovels, flint and steels), and then set up lodestones to the gates of the Bay, just so that the others can always find their way back by using their compass against the ancient stone. On top of that, two magenta shulkers, filled to the brim with food, were also left outside as well, just in case.

It wasn’t a lot, but it would help them, and that’s all Tommy cared about.

And now he sits atop the towers he had built, the landmark that started the Bay to begin with, and sighs, wings brushing against the grainy cobblestone, flicks of dust swiping off. His trident,  **_[Silence]_ ** , sits beside him, thrumming with power, encrusted gold covering it’s handle and spearhead, surrounding the singular glass-like diamond. The red powder inside of it glows, soft beats hitting the open air like a heartbeat, enveloping the powerful device in the occasional crimson crackle of energy, plasma running of it’s handle and steel tongs like lightning.

Brushing a hand against the handle, the trident hums, diamond orb flickering in the fading sunlight. He snorts at the feeling, never once glancing at the object.

Instead, he watches as gold, orange, violet and pink flush over the horizon, bathing the city in it’s evening glow, the natural light bright against the spruce and dark oak rooftops and blackstone buildings.

Gold glitters on the black tiles, a shimmer that bounces back into the sky and his eyes, and Tommy feels himself (emotionally) uncurl, chest pressed but not breath taking.

Just the regular ol’ pain.

He’s fine.

He’s  _ fine. _

~~_ No he isn’t. _ ~~

The sunset is eerily familiar to his days before the war, when he and Tubbo would sit on their bench and play his disks, basking in the afterglow of warmth offered by the last glittering, beaming rays the dying sun had to offer, cheeks warm and hair tussled in the summer wind.

If he listens close enough, Tommy can _almost_ hear ~~**mellohi**~~ cat playing in the background, soft echoes bouncing in his ears, notes swinging in the wind like a lullaby.

(His chest  _ aches.) _

_ (Why does it  _ **_ache_ ** _?) _

Pressing a scarred, calloused hand against the cobble, Tommy leans back, wings spread and  _ howls _ into the dying light off of his overcast tower, screams blotted out in the chatter of his people.

He howls, he cries, he  _ aches. _

(He just wants to be fixed, he doesn’t want to be broken anymore, why isn’t he  _ fixed?!) _

( _ ‘...Is this karma?’ _ , He distinctly questions, lips quivering,  _ ‘Is this karma for those I’ve hurt? I’ve killed? For what I’ve destroyed?’) _

_ (‘...I don’t like karma…’) _

“I’ve been so good,” the mummer slips out, tear tracks dragging down scarred, almond skin, plinking against the stone in droplets, “I’ve been so helpful and friendly, I’ve been so good, why am I feeling empty? I’ve been so good… I’ve been so  ~~_ bad _ ~~ good this year…”

Lyrics hang tangible in the air, and Tommy stifles a sob, water dragging down his face, glinted gold in the dying right.

Well what’d ya know, Wilbur was right.

_ It’s an unfinished symphony. _

\---

“He’s dead?”

Hushed whispers hover in the air, silent chattering between residents falling to a murmur, various eyes staring at the young president’s and admin’s exchange.

Ghostbur hovers nearby, in the shadows, clutching onto a glass of blue.

“He is,” Dream affirms, nodding his head sadly, porcelain hiding wild eyes and bared teeth, “I’m sorry Tubbo.”

The male slides to the ground, to his knees, and tears drag down his face, horns glinting in the light. He curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his chest, and rocks, shuddering every breath.

“Tubbo?” Fundy- Ghostbur’s boy, his  _ sweet sweet _ baby boy- steps forward, shakily holding up a hand, “W-Who’s dead? Everyone’s here…”

A blank mask, half covered by florescent green, shifts towards the crowd, and only one word leaves the admin’s mouth.

“Tommy.”

Glass shatters, hearts crack, and the ghost hanging in the back covers his mouth, tinted hands pressed against transparent skin as his eyes widen, body shaking and shuddering.

Tubbo curls further, and  _ wails _ into the open sky- full of pain, full of hurt, full of  _ loathing. _

The crowd shifts, murmuring faintly, sharing looks with one another.

Yellow flickers in the dying sun, replaced by tattered, bloody leather, and misty eyes bleed red, a cold stretching over the area.

The clouds hover, and the clouds cry.

Beyond that, the sky flashes red, and the drums of war whisper in their ears- a soft, nearly silent beat, that steadily grows louder.

_ May the Day of the Red Dawn fall wayward, for the blood that shall rain will falter even thy blood god, and lives will forever be lost in the haze. _

**_May the gods be on your side._ **

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: Comments, I love them, hand em over.
> 
> Second: This chapter was hard to right, but hey, whatever.
> 
> Third: IM MAKING MCYT AND MORE FANDOM ITEMS ON REDBUBBLE! PLEASE SUPPORT ME! I'll post the link when I'm done with the basics, I'm halfway done with my first item- a poster :) Also, like my art or writing? Support me on Kofi! You can also commission me for writing or artwork!
> 
> Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/inudathefox


	11. The Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the empire we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't want to be written, and it's a bit forced, but its almost 2k so its okay ig

\---

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” was the first thing Tommy heard upon stepping out of the house, dressed in his famous business suit, red tie bright against the white dress shirt and clean, ebony structured suit. His hair, once dulled, is bright and clean, long tresses tied into a short low ponytail, a crimson feather woven in the threads of gold.

Strapped to his waist is his holster, carrying his enchanted netherite sword, and three health potions, his trident strapped to his back by a slanted strap and magnet combo.

The teen rolls his eyes at his associates, all five of which were in their suits- Deo with orange, Luke with green, Bitz with blue, and Drista with yellow. Their suits clean and tidy, gold and silver buttons bright against the dark fabric. He glances at Drista, and internally snorts (like, this poor girl is wearing the classic suit, tie and dress shirt, but forgoes the pants for a skirt with thigh highs and boots. Woman  _ why?) _ , shaking his head, “I have to go to the Antarctic Empire  _ sometime _ Bitz. I can’t just keep pushing it off, because if I do, then I won’t get the crown!”

“Tommy, you have to battle and defeat Cal, Wisp  _ and _ Pete to even  _ get _ the crown! Are you  _ sure _ you can handle that?” Drista asks, crossing her arms worriedly, brow furrowed.

She’s given a blank stare.

“...Drista, I  _ killed an admin, _ and fought in  _ two fucking wars,” _ he calmly, if monotone, explains, brows twitching, “I’m  _ pretty fucking sure _ I can handle three people. Truthfully, the only one of any real worry is Cal- he’s notorious for his skills in combat. Pete? Not so much.”

“And Wisp?”

Luke shrugs, “Wisp doesn’t really fight too much, not even when with us, so I don’t think he’s much of a threat.”

“Luke and Tommy are right,” Bitz says agreeingly, nodding his head, fixing his beanie, “Wisp isn’t much of a fighter to begin with, though he is adequate enough, and Pete is too carried by his duties to train much. Cal, like they said, is the only real threat, though with Tommy’s skillset, the battle will most likely be one sided even with his injuries.”

“...” She swallows nervous, twitching her fingers, but nods all the same, “...Right.”

“I’ll be fine,” her fellow blonde snorts, rolling his eyes good naturedly, “after all, I  _ am _ the phoenix of the pit, the bloody trident, the red sun,  _ Bloodletter. _ I’ll be fine!”

She huffs, shaking her head, but doesn’t comment again on the matter, instead taking out clipboard and checking off some marks and reports.

The day prior, Sophie had dropped by, and after a long talk, gave full rights to her land but didn’t join the empire, instead leaving the SMP alongside Kara- since they’re without a secretary, Drista was given the position, though Luke, Bitz, Tommy and Deo also helped her with the workload so she doesn’t end up overworking herself (because out of all the things she and Dream shared personality and habit wise, it’s being a  _ fucking _ workaholic).

She spins on her heel and heads towards the helicopter, the others following after her, and Tommy almost wants to fly instead, but his wings would give him away  _ immediately _ in the snowy and ice covered venture, so he opts for the helicopter instead.

“So,” he begins, grabbing his own clipboard and giving it a once over, “how’s the new world excursion going so far?”

“It’s going great so far, surprisingly,” Deo hums, jostling a few papers as the steel doors slam shut, light hanging overhead, “the portal, shockingly, spawned our workers in the Boreal Forest biome. Since we need a main hub before trying anything else, they’re clearing out half of the forest to make said hub, and all four hundred of our workers are making great time- a village has already been established.”

Luke shuffles through his own reports, obsidian orbs narrow, “How big we talkin’?”

“About forty homes, give or take,” the reply is short and cut, though still informative, “last I heard, they already got started on the crops, and our miners found a couple diamonds and emeralds, as well as plenty of iron and coal.”

“They turned them into blocks didn’t they?” Tommy asks, brow twitching.

The smug, knowing smile that his partner sent him was all he needed, and his feathers ruffled irritably.

Smelting and putting items into blocks is an old trick that Mista showed him and Deo when they had to go hunting for ores, not wanting to waste their precious gear just in case of an emergency. To spend days in the mind, and not worry about coming up to store their stuff, she taught them to smelt the ores and set the gold, coal, gold and any diamonds into blocks- a helpful, if strange technique, but it worked. They taught Luke and Bitz, and it seems those two taught the rest of the bay the secrets to the mine scavenging.

_ Assholes. _

Groaning, he rubs his temples, feathers ruffling against the leather seats, “So  _ let me get this straight. _ Our groups managed to get to a world  _ famous _ for it’s hundred of biomes, so expansive that it’s fucking  _ bullshit, _ and while mining, our groups managed to get enough resources to keep the fucking village up and running? Did I  _ get that _ correctly?”

“Yeah pretty much,” Luke chirps, grinning when his fellow blonde groans.

“Anything  _ else _ I need to know?”

“Miners have almost a stack of coal blocks, over twenty iron blocks, seven gold blocks, one diamond, and they’ve begun to explore the nether,” Drista drones quietly, pen scratching against paper, and Tommy looks so utterly  _ done _ that she cracks a smile, tied up hair bobbing as she conceals a snicker.

“Whatever,” he sighs, brushing back golden bangs, “just… just make sure they keep safe and grab some netherwart, alright? Potions are a must.”

Fire resistance, he learned, made the nether a  _ hundred _ times easier, especially when looking for netherite.

As much as he  _ is _ a phoenix, he doesn’t have the  _ greatest relationship _ with fire.

_ Scars caused by blast burns still draw prickling's of pain when he feels the heat. _

Whirls of blades slicing through the air bumble and buzz in his ears, just loud enough that he  _ can’t hear _ his companions until the copter lands on a red, circular pad. Iron doors creak open, and as the entourage of Business Boys (and girl) step out, they are met with the three councilmen of the empire.

Pete hasn’t seemed to change much- he’s still the same white, old man that Tommy met at the start of SMP Earth, though his hair is  _definitely_ whiter- but his clothes were that of the empire; white and ice blue. A dark blue coat drapes over his shoulders, a seeping cold in his bones, and Tommy just can’t help but notice how  _ tired _ Pete looks.

_ ‘He’ll thank me when I take the workload,’ _ he ponders, lips turned into a small frown/

Cal, like Pete, wears white and ice-blue, however instead of a coat and royal garb, he wears a high, fuzzy collared military vest, white baggy pants, brown hiking boots, and a leather strap around his waist, a thick crimson liquid contained in a shiny bottle peaking through the leather pouches, and while Tommy couldn’t really  _ see _ Cal’s sword strapped to his back, he knew by the blue handle that it’s diamond- and based on the glow around it,  _ heavily _ enchanted to boot.

Wisp, compared to the other to, had  _definitely_ changed. His posture’s straight- rigid- and long gone is the grey sweater and blue overalls, instead replaced with baby-blue and white military top, black boots, dark blue pants, and a strap of dyed, white leather slung snug across his form ( _ ‘the handle is leather,’ _ Tommy notes, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit,  _ ‘it’s  _ **_iron._ ** _ Where’s his diamond?’). _ His cerulean-colored porcelain mask is pressed against his face, googly eyes staring straight at the pile of business men and woman before him, chestnut tresses tussled and bangs falling over the delicate material.

The man is so  _ oddly familiar, _ yet so  _ vastly different _ that Tommy has to  _ physically _ hold himself back from  _ lurching _ from the sudden ache in his chest.

_ ‘He betrayed you,’ _ he scolds himself, clutching his sword handle,  _ ‘he betrayed you when you were all he had, all he  _ **_knew,_ ** _ why are you  _ **_upset?!_ ** _ ’ _

_ (‘I don’t know,’ _ a part of him whispers, shaking beneath the cool, frozen sky,  **_‘I don’t know.’)_ **

“Pete,” Deo greets, smiling at the man, fangs bared in a friendly, predatory way (is that possible? Maybe. They’re from another realm, who the fuck knows at this point), “pleasure to see you again.”

“Deo.”

Ah yes- cold and to the chase.

A true Pete classic.

Storm eyes glance at the sunny blonde then swing away, aquamarine orbs narrowing at the obvious dismissal (a part of him  _ hisses _ at the man for dismissing him as a opponent. An ally. A  _ threat) _ the man just voluntarily gave him, feathers puffing out and pressing against his back aggressively, furious and  _ burning, _ “...Tommy shouldn’t be here.”

_ ‘Your  _ **_party_ ** _ shouldn’t be here.’  _ went unsaid.

Backs draw rigid, multiple stares burning into the king of the empire, and Drista has to physically restrain herself from grabbing her trident and jousting it through the man’s neck (she won’t be Dream she won’t be Dream she won’t be Dream  _ she won’t be Dream she  _ **_won’t_ ** _ be Dream), _ lest the alliance breaks and starts yet  _ another _ war between the two factions.

Her chest tightens considerably at the thought.

She’s seen war, seen those very same wars that Tommy fought in from up in the blackstone tower her brother stuffed in her, unable to help the resistance, unable to pierce the charred brick with bloodied, ripped hands and mortified wails. She’s seen the spilt blood, the ghastly faces, the  _ horror. _

She can’t let that happen again.

She  _ won’t _ let that happen again.

Drista glances at her companions, observing their stock still forms and carried weapons.

Tommy, of course, carries his netherite sword, **_[Eternal]_ ** , and trident,  **_[Silence]_ ** . Bitz has his  _ stupidly _ enchanted crossbow,  **_[Valkyrie]_ ** , and diamond sword,  **_[Faithful]_ ** . Luke, unlike the other two, only has his netherite axe,  **_[Remorse]_ ** , while Deo carries his infinity bow,  **_[Arcus]_ ** , and axe,  **_[Malice]_ ** .

Drista herself, like Luke, only carries one weapon- her trident,  **_[Scream]_ ** (which, in hindsight, might not have been the best idea but  _ whatever). _

Said weapon is currently pressed against her back, practically vibrating in the cold, ghostly wisps colored pink and purple surrounding the glowing blade.

“Shut the hell up Pete,” Tommy doesn’t rise to the bait- no matter how much he wants to- and straightens his back, wings pressed against his spine, a beacon of fire in the expanse of snow and ice, “let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

“What, your defeat?” The man smiles broadly at the younger child, cocky, unknowing of the danger.

Unknowing of the beast.

Unknowing of the  _ roaring inferno _ he just set upon himself.

“...Sure,” lips pull into a taut smile, bare rays passive overhead, igniting the world in its hues, “ _ ‘my’ _ defeat.”

\---

Beyond the ocean, beyond the desert, beyond the marred of towering trees and burning planks, a figure stands above it all, watching the largest monument in the city rain fire from the sky, blanketing the world in ash and deafening the lasting screams.

Laid at it’s-  _ his- _ feet is a mask, broken and bloody, scarred and worn.

A body lays at the bottom of the platform, cooled puddles of crimson seeping in it’s emerald cloak.

Hands raise to the sun, basking it it’s warm, red seeping from his lips as he  _ grins. _

“... _ My _ L’manburg... how you’ve broken me so.”

**_[Dream was slain by W̸̼̪̞̳͇͍͆̅͆̂̆̕i̶̢̧̦̻̭̔̂͗ͅL̸͔̝̳͍̤̦͍̈́͋̃̑͂̀̊͜b̵͔̙̂̍̽͋̄̈́̐͐̎̎͘͝U̷͉̙̞̓̒̓̌͊͆̃͘̚r̵̗̩͇̼̟̃͜ ̶̧͓̥̜̲̻̑̄̋̽͗̈̅̈́͝͝S̴̡̖̲͍͚̳͙̱̱͕̝͇̎̋̇̈́̔͛̂̇͝o̸͉̻͙͉͕̺̎̐̊̈Ơ̶̫̮̫̠̳͇̠̜͛̋̂̍͒̊̄̒t̵̬̺̹͈͕̲̖͖̑͑͗̿͊̚.]_ **

**_\---_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i have a redbubble now and i have 2 prints on it :)
> 
> Inudathefox on redbubble, you can find me there lol.
> 
> buy my merch


	12. You can be king again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHA 3.2k CHAPTER GO FUCKING BRR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys thank you so much for almost 350 bookmarks, 20k hits, and 1.6k kudos! This means the world to me, you have no idea dkfndkfn HERED A LONG CHAPTER FOR YALL!!!

  


  


\---

  


L’Manburg is a nation doomed to fail from thought of it’s conception, from ideals instilled through hatred and a blatant pettiness to escape dictatorship and tyranny.

  


While definitely a recent edition, Ranboo had scowered the entirety of the server’s history, every nook and cranny, every fight, every war, every  _ battle, _ and feels his chest burn in confusion.

  


Why had Tommy  _ stayed _ as long as he did?

  


Tommy, who fought in the pit.

  


Tommy, who had a body count as high as  _ Technoblade, _ and a reputation just as, if not more so fearsome.

  


Tommy, who bled and broke for his allies.

  


Tommy, who saved  _ him- _ first as the terrified, lonely enderman hybrid stuffed in one of the slave camps, then as his resident ore dealer, then as just  _ Tommyinnit, _ a simple, war-torn teen who has seen too much and grinned just a bit too wide.

  


He just doesn’t  _ get it. _

  


These people turn again and  _ again _ against his savior, and then weep for him, and then begin warring once more as if it never occurred (maybe he’s remembering wrong again, or maybe just a part of him doesn’t care about the screaming, insane,  _ alive _ version of Wilbur motherfucking Soot, or the cooling, glitching corpse of Dream, all communicators ringing out that the man has two lives left. Maybe he just doesn’t  _ care _ anymore) in the first place.

  


Heat swirls in his chest, and Ranboo represses a snarl at the insistent fighting of the adults, claws gorging into the wall when he spots Tubbo- poor, innocent, manipulated, broken  _ Tubbo- _ splayed out on the floor, eyes misty and far away, and Purpled standing overtop of him, jostling him and clashing trident spears against diamond swords and netherite axes.

  


His tail lashes, and with the sight in mind, his decision is made.

  


Hidden from the chaos, behind broken walls and shattered dreams, Ranboo pulls out a fresh communicator- transformed into a pocket watch, as to not cause suspicion-, pops open the latch, and dances clawed hands against glass.

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: Dream lost a life, and Wilbur is crazy and alive again _

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: Tubbo is having a mental breakdown, I’m hidden, and Purpled is literally the only sane, untraumatized child in the fucking smp while everyone else is fucking fighting again _

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: Im taking both of them and coming back home _

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: fuck the smp, and fuck being a spy, I’m pretty sure I lost a life somewhere. _

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: Also I got all the secrets I need anyway, so I’m packing mine, Tubbo and Purpled’s shit and we’re LEAVING _

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: We’ll be there in less than a month. _

  


Paws freeze consideringly, anxiety bubbling in his chest when he remembers the one text Drista sent him all that time ago, only three words but enough to knock the wind out of his lungs because he didn’t even  _ know, _ didn’t know of his friend’s disappearance, his health, his  _ life. _

  


**_DristaIsHere whispers to you: We found Tommy._ **

  


Grey haze hovers between the broken buildings and roaring fire, and his heart thumps against its cage, sharp ears filled with static that echoes in the air and deafens the horrified screams ladling the smp.

  


Another beat, and claws dance once more.

  


_ You whisper to [DristaIsHere]: Tell Tommy I’m sorry. _

  


\---

  


Beneath the heavy clouds and low sun, the Bay inhabitants huddle close together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the crowd of civilians pass them, stares of curiosity gleaming in the thousands of pairs of eyes they pass, drawn to the figures in pressed, high class suits and dark, gleaming weapons that are practically  _ bathed _ in magic.

  


Hushed gossip rings in their ears like striking bells, harsh against the soft crunching of snow and patter of feet against frigid stone.

  


Feathers brush against his crewmates, flooding them with a searing, comforting heat, and Tommy snaps chilling blues to Pete’s figure, crinkling his nose in distaste.

  


He never had much of a problem with Calvin- the man is actually quite nice, all things considered-, and yeah, Tommy’s conflicted over Wisp, but Pete he’s always just…

  


Always just kinda  _ hated. _

  


There was just something  _off-putting_ about the man and how he  _ acted _ towards others.

  


So chilling.

  


So off putting.

  


So  _ blatantly  _ **_rude._ **

  


It’s no  _ wonder _ that with a leader like this, the empire began to lose it’s allies- what was once a empire quietly but fairly ruled with plenty of alliances is now a hidden tyranny, alliances broken and new enemies taking it’s place.

  


Oh, how Tommy would  _ love _ to run a sword through Pete’s back- his blood and magic practically  _ sing _ at the idea- but then he would be getting the crown  _ unfairly, _ and do more harm than good.

  


Thus, defeating Pete in a good ol’ fashioned battle and taking the crown  _ rightfully _ is the best decision by  _ far. _

  


Though, say what he might, Pete had helped flourish a beautiful kingdom (illicit means, sure, but  _ whatever). _

  


It’s just  _ too bad _ that he’d be losing it  _ so soon. _

  


**_Not._ **

  


“When are we getting to the arena?” Luke whispers, obsidian pits narrowed dangerously at the three ahead of them, “It’s fuckin’ freezin’ and we’ve been out here  _ twenty minutes!” _

  


Bitz presses his shoulder into Luke’s, sharing his limited warmth with the slime hybrid (though, based on dark orbs glimmering nothing but gratitude, the sentiment is appreciated), and replying faintly, voice breezy like the wind, “They’re likely taking us to the pit… it’s farther, but it’s a huge arena, so people are most likely going to be watching if a new king is crowned or not.”

  


“Does this mean that Pete dies when Tommy…” Blonde hair bristles in the wind, and so do crimson feathers, a blast of heat centering in their air, fading just as suddenly as it came (just biting cold in it’s place…  _ always _ biting. Always consuming, always  _ there). _

  


“...” Deo glances at his ‘brother’, feeling the pent up magic swirling in the younger boy’s chest like clockwork, ready to burst and ready to  _ consume _ the realm in eternal fire at the slightest mishap. “...Maybe.”

  


He brushes frigid leather against toasty skin, and can almost physically  _ see _ the tension slipping off Tommy’s form like water, a comfortable heat passing over him-

  


A silent “thanks”.

  


A form of gratitude, one that he’ll happily take and cherish.

  


Won’t be like the Essemble.

  


Never the Essemble.

  


Won’t be like  _ Dream. _

  


Won’t be like  _ Techno or Philza. _

  


Won’t break his trust, he will not  _ he will  _ **_not-_ **

  


Another wisp of heat brushes against his cheek, and Deo stills himself from nuzzling into it- maybe later, but not now.

  


They have  _ work _ to do.

  


Soft rays dance overhead lazily, pressing the faintest bits of warmth against their forms, and vengeful crimson and liquid luck wings hover over their shoulders in an eternal huf and suddenly they feel energized and ready.

  


Ready to fight.

  


Ready to  **_win._ **

  


Pete slows to a stop, and turns to them, towering stone walls casting cryptic shadows, the sun hanging overhead, cresting just over the pillars, “Welcome…”

  


Crowds cheer ahead, and the wafting of blood drifts through the air, and suddenly Tommy is elsewhere- a dark, crudely made ring, surrounded by jeers of blood and self-righteousness, of tears and glory, of hate and beautiful, tangible  _ lies. _ Blood on his teeth and a feeble torn body in hand, cheers ringing around him shouting his name- never his true name  _ never his true name- _ in those  _ wretched _ voices of theirs, only chanting one single fucking  _ thing. _

  


“...to the **_Pit.”_ **

  


\---

  


“What are the rules?” The soft demand is ripped from the living, mortal phoenix, tongue heavy and lined with ash, as he and his posse stand in the waiting room, air shifting ominously around them, compressing and dark and dangerous and oh so  _ deliciously _ familiar.

  


Storm blues lay sharp, like a wicked rusted blade, and dance to his companions, all who have tasted war and blood and anarchy and  _ glory. _

  


Drista’s fingers twitch, inching towards her trident, ocean orbs rich with poison and oil, deadly and dark and so much like Dream that he should be scared but he  _ isn’t _ because this is  _ Drista. _ Drista, the maiden locked in the blackstone tower.

  


Drista, a huntress scarred by war and conflict and yet never  _ there _ to help or defeat.

  


Drista, the shadowy figure etched across the field that left fruit by his house whenever he was put on house arrest.

  


Drista, the one with a beast just as deadly as his, a being of tar and bad intentions, that is out for blood- a calling on kinship that the little devil recognizes and  _ prospers _ at.

  


Drista,  _ his _ sister.

  


_ His _ friend.

  


**_H i s._ **

  


Deo, on the other hand, still has the same calm façade that he’s always had- though behind those dark, voided glasses are deranged eyes and his smile is just a tad bit too sharp, a tad bit too biting, too many teeth, too many  _ emotions. _ Blood wafts around him, sticking to him and he’s back- just like Tommy,  _ always _ like Tommy- and he’s ready for  _ war. _

  


Ready to rip his claws into his enemies and tear them apart  _ limb from limb. _

  


Ready to watch the life drain from their eyes.

  


Ready to  _ kill. _

  


And Tommy  _ thrives _ on the blatant bloodlust that bubbles and rolls off his figure.

  


Luke is all but  _frothing_ at the scent of the blood, twitching and fangs sharp in the glinting limelight, ash at his feet and blood on his hands, cheers jostling in his ears and they’re so absurdly loud that if he were any lesser, he would have succumbed to them long ago.

  


But he  **_isn’t_ ** lesser.

  


If anything, he’s  _ more. _

  


Massive.

  


A hunter.

  


A  _ predator. _

  


(A part of Tommy  _ purrs _ at his brother, at his friend that stands beside him drenched in old blood and  _ preening _ at the thought of more.)

  


( ** _‘A perfect little predator,’_** his mind whispers in it’s deepest depths, rich and _dark,_ **_‘a perfect little killer!’_** )

  


(Should he be disappointed that he’s happy that his friend is a killer? Maybe.)

  


(Then again,  **_is he any better?)_ **

  


Bitz shows the least bloodlust, still stock still at the compressing air, but his eyes are daggers and jump from place to place, documenting-  _ memorizing- _ the layout, the exits, the  _ escape routes. _

  


_ ‘Good,’ _ Tommy smirks at his brother in arms, catching his eyes and brows crinkle, eyes diamonds in the ravine,  _ ‘very good’ _ he conveys.

  


The nod he’s given stumbles, but is still firm.

  


_ Good boy. _

  


“One round, you and I,” Pete interrupts, and Tommy would’ve hissed had he not been so amused on how  _ cocky _ this old, wizened motherfucker is. At how he thinks he can fucking  _ win. _ That he can  _ survive. _

  


And he’s doing this all to  _ him. _

  


**_Bloodletter._ **

  


Hah, Pete,  _ winning. _

  


Ain’t  _ that _ a laugh?

  


“-two potions each, and two weapons of any kind and enchantment. No outside help, thirty minutes to dispose of the other.”

  


‘Dispose’.

  


Not ‘knock out’,  **_dispose._ **

  


_ ‘He thinks he can kill me,’ _ Tommy realizes with a huff,  _ ‘thinks that just because I’m a little weaker than before, that he’s  _ **_stronger_ ** _ than me.’ _

  


Light peeks through the cracks, illuminating the red haze around him and sending something  _ dark _ rushing through the room.

  


_ ‘Ha, as  _ **_if.’_ **

  


Bells ring overhead, and the stadium erupts in a flurry of cries, just as Tommy spins on his heel towards the battle box.

  


_ ‘One of us is coming out of this dead,’ _ he smiles thinly, chills brushing past his cheek and fire dripping of his wings,  _ ‘and it ain’t gonna fuckin’ be  _ **_me.’_ **

  


A new dawn hovers over the horizon- waiting, silent,  _ knowing-, _ beknowing of it’s new ruler.

  


It’s new  **_king._ **

  


(Up above, body shrouded in the nebula, Clara watches her chosen brush towards his destiny and smiles, stars bursting to life around her.  **_“That’s my boy,”_ ** she whispers into the darkness, eyes caught against the vibrant blue and green planet,  **_“that’s my little warrior.”_ ** )

  


(Fate, in another sector, also smiles, and continues to weave with her golden strings, quiet but  _ knowing.) _

  


(The Blood God watches as his second, lesser known champion marches towards the inevitable death battle that will consume the kingdom in blood and glory and  _ preens.  _ **_’I chose right,’_ ** he snorts, horns curled and sharp, jewelry twinkling in his aboard,  **_‘oh yes, I_ ** _**definitely chose right!”** _ )

  


(Elsewhere, a piglin hybrid shivers in the tundra, jolting at the sense of pride that pushes through him and the voices- which only scream louder in surprise-, and his chilled crown tumbles into the snow.  _ ‘What was that?!’ _ He wonders through the myriad of voices, unknowing of the changes in the wind,  _ ‘What was  _ **_that?!’_ ** )

  


\---

  


“Well,” blonde hairs glitters in the snow, stricken with white crystals, as the owner muses, wings fixing themselves against his back, “this is certainly  _ different.” _

  


The pit, as Pete called it, is a makeshift colosseum with towering stone brick walls, blue banners, and propped lanterns that cast etched shadows along the flooring, cheers burning in his ears as those around him speak in hushed whispers and echoing screams. The flooring of the pit itself is a myriad of dark blue concrete and sea lanterns, and Tommy can feel his trident  _ hum _ at the push and pull of the ancient, glowing objects- the feel like the tide of the ocean, soft at the moment but  _ vengeful _ and war-torn at the right time.

  


A maelstrom.

  


A storm.

  


An echoing  _ hurricane _ at the gulf of the coast ready to be unleashed and Tommy is fucking  _ here _ for it.

  


Here for the extra dosage of power these lanterns give him.

  


Here for adrenaline rush, the  _ drug _ that sets him free.

  


Here for the  **_bloodshed._ **

  


Eyes drift, taking in the environment, and lock onto the man of the hour, the soon to be beheaded king.

  


_ Pete. _

  


“Ready to lose the Bay?” Tommy quirks a brow- when did he say  _ anything _ about the Bay in their agreement? Even if he  _ did _ lose- which he  _ won’t, _ by the way-, under  _ what god _ does Pete think he gets the bay if, somehow, miraculously Tommy loses?

  


Man, old  _ and _ senile- he’s doing Pete a favor just by killing him now.

  


“Are you ready to lose the empire?” he shoots back, smirking when the man’s expression fills with thunder, his axe heavy in hand.

  


It’s only diamond, and he can seem from the glow that the enchants are relatively flimsy at best- knockback, a low sharpness enchant; nothing all that good. His bow, strapped to his back, has a faint glow, but just that- faint. Probably a power 1 bow or something- not that big of a threat.

  


Meanwhile, Tommy’s gear is about as powerful as you can get at this point, and he damn well  _ knew it. _

  


Just one slice of his sword, and the crown is his.

  


Just.

  


One.

  


**_Slice._ **

  


But he can’t do that- there’s  _ crowds _ here.

  


Crowds mean people.

  


People mean violence.

  


Violence means death, and death mean a fucking  _ show. _

  


So a show they shall get.

  


Reaching, scarred hands unclip his trident, it’s power humming in his hand and his blood thumming in his veins, the engravings of enchants glowing in the bleeding light, bright against his ebony suit.

  


Loyalty.

  


Riptide.

  


Mending.

  


Channeling.

  


_ Impaling. _

  


All to their best enchants, the powers widely accepted to be unable to connect to bring forth the same trident, unable to merge, but Tommy had  _ done it. _

  


He created a glitch, a rarity- a one of a kind weapon that can  _ never _ be replicated by the common man.

  


There’s a reason why only  _ he _ had such a powerful trident.

  


A reason why his is still the stuff of fucking  _ legends _ to the common player.

  


A reason why his opponents  _ tremble _ before him with quaking knees and sobering faces, etched in horror and misery, pleadings of mercy ringing in his ears as sharp prongs raise and pose, rich crimson dotted against the blade.

  


Metal scratches at his nose and tastes heavy on his tongue, and Tommy feels the beast in him- that bloody, terrifying, rancid  _ demon _ that cries at mercy and grins at war- hiss in his ears, sharp claws pressing into his shoulders, it’s presence thick and  _ weighing. _

  


**_“Kill him,”_ ** it whispers- the same whisper that plagued him when he first left his prison ( _ both _ his prisons, because  **_that place_ ** was never home. It was a jail cell, a fucking  _ jail cell, _ hidden as a temporary home. And 2b2t… that was war, not home,  _ never _ home) back in the SMP-, it’s voice sweet and thick like honey,  **_“fight, kill, slay,_ ** **_WIN._ ** **_”_ **

  


Tommy despises the monster in him, hates how deep its clawed itself inside him.

  


But it’s right.

  


By the gods, it’s  _ right. _

  


Pete is a force- a force standing in his way, in front of his goal, in front of what’s  **_his._ **

  


And  _ like hell _ Tommy is losing to some semi-senile ancient  _ rock. _

  


So he stands there, waiting,  _ knowing. _

  


The storms lift, the bell rings, and he’s  _ moving _ quicker than his mind can keep up.

  


Diamond clashes against prismarine, sparks igniting, and fire falls from clasped wings as he pushes forward, eyes searching, haunting,  _ devilish _ upon the man before him, wearing robes that are more a hindrance than a help.

  


_ Techno _ and  _ Philza _ can fight in robes.

  


Pete?

  


Not so much.

  


Swaying, he faints to the left, and sweeps his foot out, a spray of sparks crackling around his trident, storm clouds thundering overhead.

  


Diamond cuts through the air swiftly, and if Tommy were any lesser man, he would’ve been caught.

  


But again, he so no lesser man.

  


Lanterns glare into stone around him, thums of ancient power and roaring tides running through the air, and Tommy snaps his arm out, fist catching against Pete’s face, and elbow crushing against open ribs.

  


The sound of crunching bones pleases the blonde more than he’d like to admit.

  


Pete stumbles, but charges back, sword clasped and ready to swing.

  


_ ‘I should give a show,’ _ he says to himself,  _ ‘I should. But…’ _ He glances at the civilians.

  


Pointing, whispering  _ civilians. _

  


Ones that obviously don’t view him as a  _ threat. _

  


**_‘I need to set an example.’_ **

  


Swinging his trident, it  _ slices _ clean through the gemstone, and Tommy kicks him away, the man rolling against the floor, blood staining the ground.

  


He raises his trident-

  


_ Thunder crashes, and tides  _ **_storm._ **

  


-and  _ throws. _

  


Blood splatters, skin ripping apart, and the prismarine weapon shoots back to his owner, purring in his hand quietly, red seeping off it’s enlarged tongs.

  


**_[VoiceOverPete was slain by Tommyinnit using [Silence].]_ **

  


A crown- gold and sparkling, blood caught against blue crystal- tumbles to the ground, and to Tommy’s feet, glimmering faintly in the dying light.

  


He plucks it from the ground, feeling the sharp edges beneath his fingertips, and slips the accessory overtop golden tresses, and wipes at his cheek.

  


The blood only smears, and the crowd  _ roars. _

  


**_“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”_ ** They chant, slapping hands and hooting,  **_“DEATH FOR THE DEATH KING!”_ **

  


Beneath the red, fading sun, feeling fire at his back and rushing tides beneath his feet, Tommyinnit smiles.

  


Today, the Antarctic Empire fell.

  


Today, the Business Empire  _ rose. _

  


\---

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people asked for a Drista design, so here ya go!
> 
> [Drista design and outfits!](https://delomaniaofficial.tumblr.com/post/642966942888656896/a-cute-drista-design-i-came-up-with-bc-im-tired)


	13. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha filler but kinda baseline lore go brr

\---

The fall of the Antarctic Empire is felt all across the SMP- like a pillar of the past just crumbled before their very own eyes, earth shattering but  _ needed. _ So it isn’t that surprising when a new empire rises from the ashes, born from fire and war, lead by the one boy that defeated a literal  _ god _ of their land.

It comes to no surprise when the Antarctic Empire becomes the Business Empire, or that the formal capital is instead made into a new town called Arctic Bay.

Thousands-  _ millions- _ flood Business Bay, and their city expands further and further within the next few days, new buildings and roads built every step of the way. They even expanded a landmass part of the city to be on the water, with canals to and from.

What had once been an land with just over a million people, was now just over thirteen million.

And with it, new groups.

And with so many people, the Bay had plenty to spare to travel the new world (Deo joked about it being a testament… Tommy doesn’t see how it’s funny).

Instead of, say, twenty five of each category travelling to the small village in the Boreal Forest biome, there’s now a hundred each, and production has increased  _substantially_ because of the various new groups of people. The hub established into a full blown town, with shops and everything, and tradings between materials had begun as the farmers worked to supply food, builders to create homes, engineers to create working contraptions, and hunters to stalk and kill mobs and animals.

The heads of each division were obviously stressed, but with new vice captains, things began to run a little bit more smoothly.

Alya asked if he wanted a castle.

Tommy essentially told her “fuck no”, and left towards the mountains, intent on creating his own little space with  _ his _ own hands, not anyone else's.

Now, Tommy isn’t the most  _efficient_ at building- it’s not his best skill by  _ far- _ but using some spruce, skinned oak logs, quartz, glass and dark oak, Tommy managed to make a fairly cute, homey cottage built into the side of the mountain, with a red brick fireplace and chimney bellowing out the top of it, and bright, daily oiled lanterns lighting up the area.

The spruce flooring is covered mostly by red carpet, and his bedroom has white to contrast the red, concrete walls.

It’s a fairly basic house, but it’s home and that’s all that matters- at least to Tommy.

Alya, Rowan, and Luke,  _ did _ force him to let them help him with his farm though, so he let them and by the end of the day, he had building made up mostly of oak and stone brick tiles, with wide, overhanging glass walls and windows, showing the inside of the farm, which is mostly automatic.

He just has to press a lever, and water will break the crops, and he just has to replant the seeds.

Of course, the farm didn’t have much- carrots, wheat, potatoes- but it  _ did _ have a small bee enclosure with flowers scattered about! Outside the building, connected to a small river, was his sugarcane, pumpkin and melon farm- the entire area lit with hanging lanterns and glowstone.

Stone walls incase the land, keeping out the mobs from entering the compound- because he has  _ dealt _ with mob hoards and they fucking  _ suck-, _ especially creepers.

**_Especially_** creepers.

(The amount of times he has almost  _ died _ because of a bitchass creeper blowing up beside him while he’s busy is so fucking ridiculous that if he were to mark the times on paper, it’d fill two front and back _ easily.) _

Beside the farm, with a small overhanging roof, are three pens with four animals per pen. Four chickens (meaning he gets about eight eggs per day, twelve if he’s lucky), four sheep, and four cows. All the animals are named- with puns, mostly (thanks  _ Luke)-, _ nametags hanging from their collars, each colored to be bold against the cream-colored tag.

A large chest sits outside the chicken pen, waiting to be filled, and a pair of enchanted shears hangs from a single hook attached to the sheep’s fencing.

Not far from his house is a naturally made oak village, the community just past the mountain- it’d take ten minutes, tops, if he flew, and probably an hour if he took a horse.

His own subjects often trade with the villagers, so hybrids are heavily welcomed into their society, both as residents and business partners.

Though Tommy is amused to find that, unlike other villages who only have on master on average, theirs has  _ five. _

A cleric, a librarian, a cartographer, a butcher, and a tool smith.

The cartographer is helpful for finding precious builds, like woodland mansions and temples- in fact, his soldiers are gearing up to take over a woodland mansion at this very minute for totems. Besides, a mansion would be a cool base, lots of potential resources.

The librarian is where they get their highest quality books- Tommy is  _ still _ astounded hey managed to get the  _ one villager _ that sells mending books for  _ two emeralds- _ for dirt cheap, and its thanks to them that his soldiers are now equipped with Mending, Protection, Depth Strider, Blast Protection, Thorns, and Feather Falling to their armor. The librarian also sells sharpness III books, so that means that everyone buys a few books, combines them, and either has sharpness 4 or 5 on their weapons.

The cleric is actually one of the few working female villagers, though you can’t really tell other than the long braided brown hair and long robes. She sells ender pearls for a single emerald, which is  _ amazing _ overall, and also sells healing and swiftness potions for five emeralds each.

The butcher is one of the few reason Business Bay had so many emeralds, even before Tommy’s return. With the massive farms they hold, they sold their uncooked meet, coal, dried kelp and berries to the being, who gave them emeralds in return. More often than not, those like Drista and Bitz would completely wipe out the trader’s emerald stock, coming out with more than a hundred emeralds per day.

  
Finally, the tool smith- another woman, shocking for such a old fashioned village- was more about  _ getting _ than  _ giving, _ but  _ holy shit. _

When she gave, she  _ gave. _

Heavily enchanted diamond tools, each with at least two good enchantments like silk touch and efficiency, and a  _ shit ton _ of flint for a single emerald.

Let it be known, Tommy can respect a master of their craft, and that smith is  _definitely_ a master at what she does.

If his people don't want to spend diamonds to make gear, or the magic to enchant them, they just go to her, give the needed emeralds, and buy the stock- be it an axe, pickaxe, hoe or shovel- then leave.

Sometimes they go to her for upgrading gear, but it doesn’t happen much.

Speaking of upgrading gear, Tommy’s getting ready to upgrade his own.

He’s been home almost… what, two months? And he  _ still _ only has diamond level gear- powerful diamond gear, no doubt, but still  _ diamond. _

And he isn’t using the netherite in his red shulkers- that shit was  _ given _ to him.

He wants to  **_earn_ ** his netherite- he wants to  _ earn _ his gear, and his people’s respect. Maybe it’s a pride thing, who knows, but all Tommy knows is that his honor as a phoenix, a being of pride and  _ dignity, _ would  _ not _ allow for him to take the easy way out.

Thus, he steps outside, deciding to wear his throwaway iron armor with fire protection two and thorns, and his heavily enchanted diamond pickaxe strapped to his belt, and his netherite sword and diamond shovel strapped to his back. His belt carries three extended fire potions, the orange, glowing liquid inside swishing with every motion, and a small pouch- a new device that Deo added, called a “bundle”- carrying eighteen gold ingots inside, so that while he’s working, he can trade with the piglin tribes for valuables.

Tommy pulls out his compass and taps the thin glass, it’s form glowing harshly against his skin.

**_Nether Trade Portal_ ** glows white against the steel frame, engraved and still hot to the touch, burning against his fingers, red marks left in its wake.

“So it’s this way,” he mummers, flapping his wings towards the portal by the bay.

Now, of course, he knows that the Bay has six portals, but it’s  _ true _ portal is the one smack dab in the middle rocky plains biome, bigger than any portal he’s ever seen- twenty feet tall, and just as wide- with vendors of all types- human, and hybrid- situated around the area, trading, grumbling against one another.

_ ‘...They’re piglins,’ _ he notes, eyebrow raising when he notes that at least  _ half _ of the vendors- those that are hybrids, at least- are  _ piglin _ hybrids.

He can tell from their hoof-like hands, tails, legs, ears, and hair-

These are  _definitely_ piglin hybrids.

_ ‘Interesting,’ _ Tommy hums, stepping through the portal, the breeze ruffling through his hair-

-only to be replaced with a sharp blast of heat, bitter against his tongue and biting, lashing out at exposed skin, hoping to burn and  _ skorch _ it’s enemies.

_ Ender… _

It feels like  _ home. _

Brushing out of the gateway and past his people, who chat as they go too and from, Tommy presses his wings further against his back, the heat stifling and headache inducing but  _ god _ did it feel wonderful to be back by the pools of lava and fire, of passion and  _ hate. _

A dangerous,  _ dangerous _ realm full of death and blood, praised only by the fire that burns like the sun and scorches even the bravest of souls.

The only place that is  _ anywhere _ near as dangerous as 2b2t.

_ He loves it. _

“Now, where can I find some good ol’ netherite…” he hums, glancing at the various tunnels in the netherrack, obvious netherite hunting spots based on the constant booms he can hear that shakes the foundation he stands upon (he does not flinch he does not flinch he does  _ not-). _ Eyes drag towards the giant lava lake, pillars spilling from the ceiling, crushing into the heavy liquid with fat, sluggish plops.

Tommy watches from the edge, as the lava pillars down and  _ smiles, _ wings spread wide, feathers brushing against the rock, crimson against gold.

Heat blast by him, and he  _ falls. _

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love comments, love love love them, as well as speculations and thoughts :) also come visit my tumblr and ask any questions, its always open lol
> 
> Edit: mixed fletcher and cartographer up, fixed it

**Author's Note:**

> My Kofi
> 
> My Twitter
> 
> My Tumblr


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